


Challenge Seven: Magic

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Summer Pornathon 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:37:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 104,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge Seven: Magic for the 2013 Summer Pornathon.</p><p>The voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/96389.html">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (Warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing and warnings included in chapters 1-4.
> 
> Chapters 5-8 are repeats of chapters 1-4 without pairing and warning information.

**1.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con, Bondage

The soft giggle wafting through the trees made Arthur jump to his feet and clutch at his dagger. He saw no one. Shifting uneasily, he turned in a circle. It could have just been the leaves moving in the breeze. Gradually, he relaxed down on his bedroll next to the little fire.

He heard the giggle again, closer. His head snapped around and he nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw a boy almost blending into the trees.

"You!" he croaked, and swallowed. "Boy!" 

The boy smiled and stepped into the clearing, giggling again. He was _green_ Arthur realized. Not a dark green, but a muted, patchwork green that made him blend easily into the forest. There were leaves all through his hair and his eyes were gold.

Arthur stood, tense. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly. 

The boy shrugged and stepped closer. He was naked, the green more pronounced around his cock, taking on a brownish hue. 

"I have found a Pendragon in my wood." The boy's voice was lilting and soft. He sounded amused. 

"What is your name?"

The boy smiled. "Merlin." He stepped closer. Arthur was mesmerized. 

"What do you want?" he repeated, the words weak even to his ears.

Merlin stepped into his space and reached out to touch at his face. "To bring you the pleasure of the wood of course." He leaned forward and kissed him.

Arthur gasped and dropped his dagger, his hands reaching out to clutch at Merlin's hair and draw them together. A fever had taken him, and he burned with desire to touch, to taste.

"Merlin," he breathed, and Merlin slipped his tongue into Arthur's mouth, soothing. He tasted earthy and rich, like the smell of pine after a rain.

Arthur moaned and clutched at his hips, rubbing his erection on Merlin's bare thigh.

Merlin stepped away and laughed, breathless. "Come." He pulled Arthur down to the earth next to his bedroll, carefully stripping away Arthur's boots, belt, and clothing.

Arthur moaned as Merlin's mouth wrapped around his cock, suckling at the head, his tongue flicking over and over. He pulled off to lick messily around Arthur's balls and Arthur couldn't help the strangled shout, his muscles seizing.

Merlin quieted him, his kisses soft and light against Arthur's thigh. "Alright," he said, soothing, and Arthur felt a tug on his right wrist. He turned his head to look, but Merlin licked a line up his cock and his eyes rolled back as he moaned.

Something tugged at his other wrist, but he didn't care, only whimpered as Merlin reached down to rub at his hole, his fingers mysteriously warm and slick. Arthur's hips bucked, fucking himself forward into Merlin's mouth and backwards towards his questing fingers.

A cool touch on his ankle made him open his eyes. Arthur saw vines creeping up his calves, anchoring him to the ground. Twisting slightly, he saw that his wrists were similarly pinned to the ground.

His cock twitched in Merlin's mouth and Merlin moaned around him, sending frissons of pleasure up and down Arthur's cock, making him shudder and shake. 

"Please," he choked out, head tossed back. "Please."

Merlin licked at him and then pressed his fingers inside, twisting them deep. It hurt a little, but it was a warm hurt, one that stoked the fire building in his gut. A groan burst out of his chest.

Merlin sucked harder, his tongue flicking in rhythm with his pumping fingers. He crooked them forward and Arthur shouted and pulled at his bonds, feeling them dig into his wrists and ankles as he came down Merlin's throat. It was like falling off a cliff. He rode out the sensations, feeling the pleasure rushing through every part of his body.

He came to as Merlin pushed into him, his body lax as Merlin fucked him, not being able to help moaning piteously. Merlin kissed him on the inside of his thigh and quieted him as Arthur pulled weakly at his bonds.

Merlin cried out when he finished, and pulled out of Arthur to tuck his face into his ribs. The vines sank slowly back into the ground. 

Arthur's heart slowed as they lay there in the crackling firelight, Merlin's breath light on his skin.

"Be careful," Merlin mumbled, and Arthur could only make a questioning noise.

"Be careful," Merlin repeated, tucking his chin closer. "The High Priestess has put a bounty on your head."

A chill ran down Arthur's spine. "What?"

"Don't worry," Merlin muttered, on the edge of sleep. "You're mine now."

 

**2.**  
 **Pairing: Arthur/Merlin**  
 **Warnings: None**

“Have you learned nothing from Harry Potter?”

“What?” Arthur asks as he looks up from where he’s sprawled on the sofa. Merlin puts his hands on his hips and sighs deeply. “What?” Arthur repeats. “Was I supposed to learn that Molly Weasley is what you turn into when you’re angry?”

“Ha bloody ha,” Merlin says humourlessly. He doesn’t move from where he’s towering over Arthur. “That’s not it. Why are muggles not aware that magic is real?”

“Are you calling me a muggle now?” Arthur says indignantly and sits up. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“That’s not an insult. Muggles are just ordinary people. Why don’t they know of magic, though?”

“Because wizards are selfish bastards and don’t want to share their powers with us common folk.”

“Exactly!” Merlin exclaims and waves his hands around. “That’s the sort of prattish attitude that makes us hide. You’re not entitled to my magic, you’re gonna do your own bloody chores.”

“I was asking for a favour!” Arthur exclaims in return. His protests no further as he takes the stern look on Merlin’s face. His gaze darts downwards and when he looks up, he’s mustered what he hopes is his best puppy-face, the one Merlin can’t possibly stay angry at. He adds a smile and reaches for Merlin, tucking his fingers into the belt loops on the front of his jeans. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says softly. Merlin groans in annoyance but lets himself get pulled forward. When Arthur’s smile widens Merlin rolls his eyes and sits astride him, letting Arthur’s hands wrap around his waist.

“I’m not your manservant,” Merlin says tiredly, as if they’ve had this conversation a hundred times. Arthur frowns in thought. Maybe they have. In Merlin’s head, at least. They do bicker all the time, and a remark or two coming from Merlin might have been a bit more serious than Arthur had supposed in the minute. 

“I didn’t know it bothered you that much,” he says, apologizing, but not really.

“Please,” Merlin scoffs. “With the rest of you to deal with, you bossing me around is nothing.”

“Oi!” Arthur says and slaps Merlin’s arse lightly. “Watch it.”

“Or what?” Merlin laughs. He moves even closer, settling into Arthur’s lap more comfortably. “What’s a muggle got against _Merlin?_ ”

“Oh, here we go with the name calling again. And what – you’re _the_ Merlin now?” Merlin shrugs. 

“Could be his descendant or something.”

“Wait, really?” 

“I don’t know, Arthur,” Merlin says, heaving yet another sigh. “I don’t know how this works. I know I’ve got it from my father, but I never had the chance to ask him about it.”

“Wasn’t Merlin immortal, though? Young forever? Oh my god, what if _he_ ’s your father?”

“Oh, ew, Arthur, no!” Merlin lets out a terrified laugh. “My mother did not sleep with a thousand year old bloke.”

“Explain the name, then.”

“It’s just a name! I’m not Merlin’s son. _I’m_ Merlin. Just Merlin.”

“Well, _just Merlin,_ ” Merlin narrows his eyes and Arthur grins. “Come on, how would anyone know who he really was if he never aged? No, wait, what if he did die, but his soul, you know, got reborn?”

“You’re watching too much telly.”

“Seriously! You could be a version on Merlin himself.”

“Yes, and it’s my destiny to be stuck with you, a reincarnation of King Arthur himself,” Merlin deadpans and Arthur feels his jaw drop. “No, Arthur.”

“We could be, though!” He laughs and lifts Merlin up, making him yelp as he drops him on the couch and settles on top of him. “Merlin and Arthur.”

“Have you really not made the connection before?”

“No!” He genuinely hasn’t. Merlin smiles fondly at him and Arthur aches for him. He leans for a kiss and Merlin hums approvingly when Arthur reaches for the button on his jeans. “Merlin and Arthur,” he mutters again happily against Merlin’s neck.

“I made you king,” Merlin says cheekily. “You’re nothing without me.”

Arthur’s only reply is to palm his cock firmly. It strikes him that maybe he’s right – maybe he _is_ more than a little lost without Merlin, but that's too scary of a thought to ponder on right now when he’s so happy and Merlin’s so hard against him. 

As Merlin gets impatient, Arthur feels the sofa shifting – and not because they’re rocking too hard – and when he catches the golden glimmer of Merlin’s eyes, he decides that being with this man has to be his destiny, indeed. 

 

 **3.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):**

Arthur shivered in anticipation as Merlin’s eyes flashed gold above him. They’d never done this before, but Arthur trusted Merlin completely. He knew this would be good. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Merlin asked as he leaned forward and guided Arthur’s hands above his head. Arthur sighed as warmth wrapped around them and traveled slowly up into his hands and down his arms. Merlin’s magic sometimes had a mind of its own, and that mind was determined to make sure Arthur was as comfortable as possible. There’d be no pins-and-needles tingles for him when they were done.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur answered, he rolling his eyes and arching up to nip as Merlin’s chin. “I’m sure. Just like I was sure when you asked ten minutes ago. Before you undressed me. _As_ you undressed me. Even as you undressed yourself.” He put the edge of his foot against Merlin’s ass and pushed him forward, catching his lips so he could kiss him. Pulling back, he met Merlin’s eyes. “I’m sure, Merlin,” he said again quietly. 

Merlin considered him for a moment, then nodded his head, a determined glint in his eye. “All right then.” Leaning back on Arthur’s thighs, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, Arthur let out a breathy moan to see them blazing gold. 

The warmth at Arthur’s wrists intensified slightly, and he felt his arms extend above his head. Warmth wrapped around his ankles, spreading his legs wide enough for Merlin’s bum to bounce off the mattress as Arthur’s thighs slid out from under him. “Oof,” he grunted with a chuckle. 

“Idiot,” Arthur huffed, an affectionate smile tugging at his lips. Merlin narrowed his eyes and bit the inside of Arthur’s thigh in retaliation. Arthur gasped at the bright flare of pain, then moaned as the warmth of Merlin’s magic engulfed the mark and pleasure radiated up his leg to settle right in his balls.

“Well,” Merlin said, his brows furrowed in a confounded twist.

“What?” Arthur breathed as Merlin rolled his balls in the warmth of his hand.

Merlin huffed a laugh. “I think my magic likes you,” he said wryly. “That’s not my hand, by the way.”

“Huh?” Arthur leaned up as much as his magical bonds would allow -- which turned out to be a lost more than he’d thought -- to look down his body. Merlin sat between his legs, gazing down at Arthur’s cock. Following his gaze, Arthur put an image to what he was feeling, which was his sac undulating and moving as though being rolled and fondled by an expert hand. 

He flopped back on the pillows with a moan. “Well, don’t tell it to stop on my account,” he gasped as something -- Merlin’s hand? Merlin’s magic? Arthur didn’t even _care_ \-- started stroking his half-hard cock into full hardness. 

Merlin huffed and stretched himself out on top of Arthur, burying his face in Arthur’s neck and mouthing at the skin there. His hands wandered across Arthur’s chest, stopping to roll and twist at his nipples until they were hard and aching. Arthur tried to arch into Merlin’s fingers, but his hips were bucking too hard into the warmth around his cock to allow it. 

Seeing Arthur’s predicament, Merlin started kissing down his body, pausing every now and again to worry skin between his teeth. Just as he reached Arthur’s navel, Merlin jerked and gasped, then moaned long and low. 

“Don’t -- Don’t stop,” he gasped out, the wet head of his cock dragging over Arthur’s thigh. 

“I’m -- nnngh -- I’m not doing anything,” Arthur managed to grit out. The warmth fondling his balls drifted down the cleft of his ass and probed tentatively at his hole. Arthur shifted, opening up a bit more to it, and then cried out as that warmth slipped into his ass.

Above him, Merlin thrashed and squirmed until he was back over Arthur, lining their cocks up and whining as his hips bucked. He whimpered and gasped like he did when Arthur fucked him, and Arthur realized that Merlin’s magic wasn’t just pleasuring _Arthur_. 

He could feel Merlin’s magic as it fucked in and out of him, and the rhythm of their hips became frantic and erratic. Merlin reached down and wrapped his hand around them, and that was it for Arthur. He came with a loud cry and vowed they would definitely be doing this again soon.

 

 **4.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

The first time Merlin appeared suddenly in Arthur’s room, Arthur took it surprisingly well. 

“I’m Arthur.”

“Merlin.”

Arthur rubbed his hands together with glee. “So do I get three wishes?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes so strenuously that he thought he might sprain something. “I’m not a genie you daft sod.”

“But you clearly have magic.”

“And that automatically makes me a genie? Did a pop up out a tiny golden lamp? Am I wearing a skimpy top and ridiculous balloon pants?”

Arthur slowly looked him up and down. “No...though it might be an improvement.”

Merlin squawked and looked down at his outfit. He wore stiff black pants, a shiny silver top, and a red neckerchief. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, I don’t know...everything?” Arthur retorted with a smirk.

Merlin glared at him. 

“And what is this?” Arthur reached out to touch Merlin’s neckerchief and was startled when his hand went right through Merlin’s neck. He sprang away. 

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked his eyes still wide with a combination of fear and curiosity.

Merlin thought back to what he had been doing just before he appeared in this strange, albeit attractive, boy’s room. He had been feeling incredibly frustrated that he had to keep his magic secret. And his Uncle Kilgarrah constantly told him about some great destiny he had. Impatient, he just wanted to know what he was talking about and decided to do something about it himself. “I was looking through my Uncle Kilgarrah’s spell book and I just did a spell to show me what my destiny was.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know how I ended up here.”

A devilish smile slowly formed on Arthur’s face. “Perhaps, I’m your destiny.”

Merlin could feel his cheeks redden. “You wish.”

 

~*~

 

It turned out that Arthur was actually right. When Merlin got back, after he reversed the spell, he told his uncle what had happened. After he chastised Merlin for his behavior he told Merlin that Arthur was his destiny - but not yet. Merlin and Arthur were living in two different centuries and weren’t meant to be together in this lifetime. But their souls were bound together, which is why Merlin’s soul could reach out to Arthur with the spell. 

Despite Kilgarrah’s warning, Merlin continued to use the spell. He didn’t want to wait however many lifetimes it would take to be with Arthur. 

It was truly like he had found his other half. He felt complete and happy in a way that he had never felt before. Even though he couldn’t touch Arthur their bond grew stronger every day. 

Merlin had been visiting Arthur for a year when he woke up one morning with a sick feeling in his stomach and when he opened his eyes he wasn’t in his room. Instead he was surrounded by trees. He suddenly heard a scream.

The bottom dropped out of Merlin’s stomach and he raced blindly toward Arthur’s voice. The closer he got the more he could make out that Arthur screamed his name.

“Merlin!” 

He burst through the trees and entered a clearing and raced to the river at the edge of it. Arthur thrashed about in the water. Several times his head fell under the surface.

Merlin watched helplessly. There was nothing he could do. Arthur briefly turned and their eyes locked onto one another’s.

“Merlin.” Arthur said softly before he sank under the water. He didn’t emerge again. 

Merlin got down on his knees and screamed. “Please, Gods please don’t take him from me. What about our destiny!” Tears streamed down his face. “I’ll give up my magic. I’ll do anything you want!”

Suddenly, it was as if everything froze in time. And then something spoke to him in the softest whisper.

 

~*~

 

Merlin dragged the Arthur’s nearly lifeless body out of the water. He was easily able to breathe life back into him. 

Arthur looked up at him in a daze and blinked slowly. “Merlin? What are you...?” He touched Merlin’s cheek and gasped. “I can touch you!” Arthur hands traced gentle lines all over his face and he stared at him reverently. “How?

“I’ll explain later.” Merlin said and hugged Arthur tightly. 

Arthur’s arms tentatively snaked around his waist. 

Merlin kissed Arthur’s neck and Arthur shuddered. Merlin pressed sweet kisses over and over against Arthur’s neck. 

Arthur groaned and squeezed Merlin tightly. This caused Merlin’s groin to come into contact with his and when Merlin felt the evidence of Arthur’s arousal he couldn’t stop himself and ground down even harder. 

Merlin pulled back and crushed his lips against Arthur’s. He pushed the wet white shirt clinging to Arthur’s body up and frantically touched every inch of skin he could.

It didn’t take long before Arthur stiffened in his arms and groaned loudly in his ear. Merlin pressed his head at Arthur’s neck again and lapped at his skin before he bit down as he came.

 

 **5.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Angst, Time Travel Magic 

Merlin had always known he was cursed. Living time backwards from everyone else was a confusing a messy experience. 

He was raised by a woman who had already seen him leave, experienced him as a young teen, bathed him and took care of him. She was not his birth mother. He knew that. He never knew his birth parents. 

It was when he was eight that Merlin realised how difficult his curse was. 

At eight he had woken from a bad nightmare and went crying into his mother’s room. Curled beneath her covers he asked her to sing his favourite bedtime song. She stared at him blankly and he realised she had never sang it before. It dawned on him that he would never hear it again. 

By fifteen he knew he would need to leave soon. Each day his mother knew him less and less. As her grey hair turned dark brown and her wrinkles faded, so did her memory of him. Until one day, as he made eggs down in the kitchen and she came at him with a frying pan, Merlin was forced to leave. He sent her a note that day, explaining who he was and thanking her. 

That was the last time he ever saw his mother. 

The streets were a hard place to live. Harder still because he was never been able to make friends. At times he would try, but each day he would need to start anew. Try again and again to form connections with people. 

He told himself that it was stupid to be upset about something that he had never really had. 

He was nineteen when Arthur Pendragon came into his life. 

He was a white-haired old man with crooked teeth. 

“Merlin,” he gasped. “Is that you?”

Merlin had had this experience a few times. Where sometimes important people from his future would recognize him. No one like this. The old man had simply kissed him hard and passionately on the street corner. 

Suddenly Merlin heard whispers around them. Pushing away from the old man he yelled, “Get off me! Who the hell are you?”

It was another year before he ran into Arthur again. A little less white and more grey. He seemed happier than the last time Merlin had seen him. In fact, he did not seem at all surprised to see Merlin at all. 

“I couldn’t find you this morning,” he said and Merlin could not find it in him to ask who he was, or explain that the last time he had seen this man he had left him standing on a street corner. It had been years since he had felt the safety of someone knowing him and loving him. 

He let Arthur take him home and make him dinner. He listened to the jokes about “old friends” he had not met yet. And at the end of the night, he let Arthur with his wrinkled hands take off his clothes and touch him like a precious gift. As each finger breached him, Merlin felt a bit closer to home. 

Afterwards, naked and sated, he finally felt safe. 

“You didn’t know me this morning, did you?” Arthur asked. 

“No,” Merlin admitted. 

“Do I ever see you again?” 

“Just once,” Merlin whispered and pretended not to see this near-stranger cry as they fell asleep. 

For Merlin though, it was just the beginning. It was not until forty-five years later, with ups and downs, that Merlin, now the old man, allowed a blonde-haired youth to thrust into his willing body, that he felt the end coming. 

“It’s as if we have never done this,” Merlin teased, looking at Arthur’s wide and wondrous eyes. 

“We haven’t” Arthur gasped. 

As he slowly lost Arthur Merlin still couldn’t leave, becoming that strange old man down the road. He watched his love become a child and then a babe. He offered to babysit for his parents and holding the newborn Arthur in his arms he whispered, “Just you wait, we’re going to have so much fun.”

Then he slipped back onto the streets, a frail old man, waiting for time to sweep him away.

 

 **6.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** underage, age disparity (~28/16), older!Merlin/younger!Arthur

"Sir."

Merlin looked up from the map he was studying to see two of his best generals, guns trained on a boy standing between them, and his heart almost stopped.

"We found him lurking around the edge of camp. He's unarmed, and has no Mark."

"My name is Arthur," the boy said. "And I seek refuge."

"Arthur," Merlin repeated, and the Mark on his wrist glowed white hot. He glanced at his generals. "Leave us."

Arthur couldn't have been more than sixteen, but he was only a few inches shorter than Merlin. Blond hair fell across blue eyes, and he had a lean, wiry build and broad shoulders he hadn't quite grown into yet.

"If everyone here uses magic, why do you need guns?"

"They're magic guns. The bullets are spelled not to kill, only to temporarily disable." 

Merlin gestured at Arthur to follow, leading him through an opening at the back of the strategy room and through the labyrinth of large, connected tents until they reached Merlin's personal quarters.

"This is where I sleep. You can stay here for a few days, until we find a place for you. You'll be expected to earn your keep, magic or not, so –"

"You can fuck me."

Merlin gaped. "What?"

"To earn my keep," Arthur clarified, smirking just a little. "I want you to fuck me."

Merlin swallowed. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Arthur stepped into his space, mouth only a hair's breadth away from Merlin's. "I've heard about you. The great Emrys. I've had dreams –"

Merlin surged forward, capturing Arthur's mouth in a hard kiss, licking his way past soft lips to the warmth inside. As soon as the words had left Arthur's mouth he knew he would give in; he always gave in to Arthur.

"On the bed," Merlin breathed out, and Arthur stepped back. He was grinning, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and he was so beautiful Merlin's heart ached.

"Thought that would be more difficult," Arthur said, yanking his shirt off and reaching for the button on his jeans.

Merlin just shook his head, watching as Arthur finished undressing and climbed onto the small bed – face down, ass canted up in the air.

"Fuck," Merlin said, voice coming out strangled. He pulled his clothes off as fast as he could, following Arthur up onto the bed. He felt his eyes flash hotly, and Arthur jerked, whining.

"Next time," Merlin said, sliding two fingers into Arthur's tight, spell-slicked hole, "I'm going to take my time, and I'm going to take you apart until every piece of you remembers me."

He added a third finger, twisting them around and pumping them in and out, pushing deep and rubbing across Arthur's prostate. "Have you ever done this before?"

Arthur shook his head, flush deepening, and Merlin groaned, removing his fingers. "I won't hurt you, but you'll probably be sore for a few days. Okay?"

"Fuck, just get on with it," Arthur said, and it came out more desperate than irritated.

Merlin grinned and lined his cock up with Arthur's hole. He pushed in, the tight heat making him gasp, and Arthur let out a noise like he'd been punched. Merlin knew he should take his time – this Arthur was just a boy, a virgin – but Arthur was groaning and spreading his knees further, begging, so Merlin gave in.

He fucked Arthur hard, gripping his hips and slamming in over and over, Arthur's broken cries of pleasure urging him on. It didn't take long before Arthur was squeezing tight around him, shouting wordlessly as he came, and Merlin fucked him through it, closing his eyes and savoring the feel. He wrapped one arm around Arthur's waist to hold him up, pumping in and out of Arthur's loosened hole as fast as he could, grunting as the pleasure of it made his magic curl warmly through him.

Arthur was whimpering beneath him, Merlin's cock pushing as deep as possible on every in-stroke, and finally, _finally_ , Merlin felt the heat of his impending orgasm begin to pool at the base of his spine. It surged through him, making him cry out, and he pulled Arthur back on his dick as hard as he could, his come pulsing out and into Arthur.

They collapsed, Merlin on top Arthur and still buried deep inside. Arthur didn't seem to mind, reaching for Merlin's hand and curling their fingers together.

"Missed you," Arthur slurred, eyes drifting shut, and Merlin smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

 

 **7.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

Merlin refers to the outing of his magic to Arthur as _The Incident_. Everything else is pre-Incident and post-Incident.

He’s beginning to regret his decision..

“I swear Merlin, even with your magic you’re an incompetent _idiot_ ,” Arthur said, coughing and batting away the purple smoke wafting out from the cauldron of goop in the workroom.

“I’m an elemental! I never learned any spells until I came to Camelot!” Merlin protested, his voice starting to take on a whine but dammit, no non-magical person—King or not—is going to call him bad at his one talent.

There then, the spell Merlin had been making to water-proof the Knights’ cloaks during long, rainy hunts was a failure. He sat down on an upturned bucket, disheartened, and waved at the apparatus with a careless gesture. The cauldron lifted itself to the sink and emptied the purple goop into the gutter with a smooth motion, causing Arthur to jump a little.

“How is it that you can command _pots_ to do your bidding, but a simple water-repelling spell baffles you?” 

“I told you,” Merlin said glumly, “I’m a natural. Apparently that means I’m rather bad at _creating_ spells.”

“Well, we can’t have our Court Sorcerer not knowing how to do such basic magic. So you’ll just have to practise, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed, frustrated.

“I think I preferred it when you didn’t know anything.”

***

After that, there were attempts to keep pests away from crops, to aid in a mare’s birthing, and even once, to expand Cook’s fruit pies to twice their original size. They were strangely _useful_ spells that Arthur had requested. Especially the last one that Merlin had dubbed the ‘Embiggen’ spell. That had been delicious. (It’d worked; Merlin’s hungry stomach had probably played a part.)

“Three weeks and you’ve made me practice all these spells,” Merlin mused, taking a sip of his wine. He felt relaxed in the quiet of the evening, sitting at Arthur’s table and sharing supper. When the mantle of magic and kingship and friendly bickering were thrown off, when they were just men—comrades, and friends.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said with a tilt of his head, indicating that Merlin should continue. 

He was strangely beautiful, the dim lights in the room casting shadows on his face, beneath the strong jut of his jaw. His skin looked soft, freshly washed from his bath.

“You’re looking to normalize magic,” Merlin said, glancing away, “Use it to help people, like a tool. Like how a knight uses his sword.”

“Yes.”

“That’s—clever. I’m not sure I could be your Court Sorcerer though,” Merlin said, “I’d much rather be using my magic to remain your manservant, skiving off with the chores.”

Arthur laughed, surprised, and said, “You would.” It sounded fond.

And his face was suddenly so close. His breath hot, and his fingers—

“This is a kind of magic too,” Arthur said, then bent over to kiss him. Just a dry press of lips, and then pulling back. His smile wavered as Merlin remained stiff, shocked.

Merlin’s brain caught up in a rush, his arms flailing as he hugged Arthur to stop him from moving away. 

“No, yes—stay.”

He let go of Arthur, then bent his head to kiss him again. Merlin was nervous and it wasn’t perfect, but they adjusted their mouths, and it got better. A warm, wet exchange of breaths and moisture that was making his blood hum gradually.

They broke apart and made their way over, shedding tunics at the foot of the bed. Merlin’s fingers were clumsy on the laces of his breeches and, frustrated, simply magicked them loose. 

“This is a useful magic too,” Arthur said in a stage whisper, and Merlin stopped to laugh, batting Arthur’s hands away as he helped him unlace his breeches too.

It was better like this, skin to skin, and it was warm, sticky in the summer heat. It was too hot for anything else but a slow rub against each other, and questing fingers over bared skin.

Being together with Arthur like this, Merlin felt grounded. He came with a shudder, silent through his climax.

 

 **8.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Hogwarts AU (bear with me!)

—

_“It is sometimes known as the Come and Go Room, or else as the Room of Requirement… It is a room that a person can only enter when they have real need of it.”_

—

“I’m not sure if we’re aloud to be here…” Merlin says. He has to admit, the place looks perfect; there are a few desks near the back, and the room’s left half is lined with bookshelves full of helpful-looking titles. If there’s a place that can stop the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain from failing Charms, this would be it, but… “This looks like a classroom. We should probably ask permission before we cast spells in here…”

Arthur snorts and gives him a patronizing look. “Are you joking? We don’t need _permission_. This isn’t a classroom; it’s the _Room of Requirement_.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, you’d be a Hufflepuff _and_ an idiot,” says Arthur, grinning impishly. “I was under the impression that Gwen didn’t make friends with idiots.”

“So was I, except then I learnt she was friends with you…”

Arthur laughs. He looks gorgeous when he laughs. “Honestly, I have no idea why Gwen thought it would be a good idea for you to tutor me.”

“Neither do I,” he replies. Except he’s lying, because he knows exactly why Gwen set them up. She’s known about Merlin’s sort-of-not-really crush on Arthur ever since they were third-years, and apparently this is her idea of a “perfect opportunity”. 

So far, Merlin can’t actually complain.

—

One time, he swears the bench they’re sitting on gets smaller, forcing them to sit closer together. Another time, he trips over a wrinkle in the rug that he insists wasn’t there before and is sent sprawling into Arthur’s arms, flustered and embarrassed. It’s as if the room is trying to force them together, which, upon further reflection, it probably is.

(The room can see what he wants, after all.)

—

The Christmas holidays begin several weeks after they start their lessons, and both Merlin and Arthur are staying behind, so here they are, back in the Room of Requirement and struggling over the Water-Making spell. Merlin has just finished describing the charm’s pronunciation for the third time when he notices that Arthur isn’t paying attention. His eyes are fixed on a point above their heads with an unreadable expression on his face. Following his gaze, Merlin spots a leafy sprig suspended from the ceiling, still growing into place before his eyes.

“Mistletoe,” says Arthur simply. They’re already standing close, closer than they should be, and it would be so easy for Merlin to lean in, just a little bit, just to touch—

“We don’t have to, you know,” Merlin says quickly, breaking his own chain of thought. “It’s just a silly tradition.”

It could be his imagination, but he thinks Arthur looks surprised before nodding and returning his attention to the task at hand. They continue on as if nothing almost happened, even though they both know better.

—

The next day, Merlin is watching Arthur pace in front of the wall, his eyes trailing where they shouldn’t. When the door finally appears, they open it, and there’s a bed inside.

Before Merlin can get a handle on his mortification, Arthur speaks up with an excuse of his own. “Oh, um, I’m sorry. I’m tired, so the room must have just thought I needed to sleep…”

Merlin knows this is bullshit. Instead of calling him out on it, Merlin just opens the drawer in the nightstand next to the bed and pulls out the lube and condoms he knows will be there. He sets them on the table pointedly, then waits.

Arthur, thankfully, abandons his efforts to explain the bed away and lunges instead, pressing their lips together and muttering, “….wanted this yesterday.” Merlin doesn’t get a chance to reply before he’s being pushed back onto the bed. There’s a hand on his face and a hand on his trousers, and soon the trousers are gone, along with his pants, and Arthur’s trousers, and Arthur’s pants. Their shirts go missing, too, by which time Arthur is on top of him, the friction between them unbearable. It only takes a few hard strokes on his cock to make Merlin come, Arthur not far behind.

“We didn’t even use the lube, or the condoms…” says Arthur eventually.

Merlin smiles. “There’s always next time, right?”

—

_“Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs, whatever they may be.”_

 

 **9.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Even now, years after Merlin started fighting openly at his side, after Merlin came to his bed all lit in gold and humming with power, a frisson of fear and guilty lust goes through Arthur every time they do this.

Merlin knows. Knows Arthur thirsts for magic, power, shame, punishment, all at once. For love, and that's the one thing he will not ask Merlin for aloud. But Merlin gives it to him all the same, just as he gives him everything else, generous and profligate and easy. Tonight, warm and encircled in candles, he stripped Arthur and rubbed him until the aches of training and then sitting through council for hours were gone, then he stripped himself, still as slender as a willow-withe despite being in the prime of manhood, and rubbed Arthur elsewhere - intimate-deep-inside with oils and kisses and whispered words that Arthur couldn't make out, but which sent shivers down his spine.

And now Arthur is watching Merlin as he moves around the room tidying up as if he's still Arthur's manservant and not his lover, naked and hard and above such a task, as if Arthur isn't waiting with arousal in full bloom. Arthur is on the point of saying something, when Merlin looks over at him, smiles, and twitches his fingers. He sits down just as a warm pressure, hitherto unnoticed inside Arthur's slicked-open hole, starts to move. 

'Oh,' says Arthur, jolting out of his thoughts. _'Oh,_ ohhh, Merlin - what are you -'

'Shhhh,' says Merlin, putting a finger to his lips mischievously and gesturing again. 'Let me work, your Majesty.'

'What is -'

Merlin squeezes like he's testing a ripe peach, and the pressure starts to pulse and Arthur's body arches against it without his permission. Merlin strokes his ankle, one grounding point of physicality. 'It's what you want,' he says. 'What I know you want, even though you never say so.'

'Merlin -' 

Merlin changes something else, so that the pressure increases, a slow, warm burn-kiss against every sensitive place inside Arthur's body, and starts to thrust. 

'Please,' Arthur says, struggling to his elbows so that he can look Merlin in the face. 'Will you just take me yourself? I can't - Merlin, it's you but it's not you, it's too -'

'This is me,' Merlin says, and he slides over Arthur's body, keeping a scant inch between them. They don't touch anywhere, but Arthur is breathing Merlin's air now, feels the warmth of his body everywhere they are near, and inside him still is that feeling, that sensation. 'This is my power, Arthur, inside you, it's all for you - and it wants you the way you want it.' He leans down so that his lips almost touch the shell of Arthur's ear. 'I'm fucking you, Arthur,' he says, whispers, 'with everything I am.' 

And he is, he _is_ \- he's pounding Arthur now and they're not even touching, the perfect rhythm of sex, and it's so good Arthur's delirious with it, thrusting up into the air with heels planted in the mattress. His cock catches against Merlin's and they both start like they've been shocked, and Merlin kneels over Arthur's hips and cradles Arthur's face in his hands and bites his lip red-white-bloody, and it's as if the things Arthur's feeling are mirrored in Merlin's eyes and Arthur can't understand why until Merlin sighs with eyelids fluttering and eases himself down - wet and open the way Arthur was and _how_ and _ohhh_ and Arthur nearly comes right then, with Merlin sinking until he's hilted on Arthur's cock. 

'Let me show you how you make me feel,' Merlin says, and starts to move. 

It's _everything_. It's fire, like liquor and sunshine and the heat on cobblestones at the end of the day, it's summer rain pounding on parched fields when you've given up hope, it's the wildness of Beltane and the glory of the new year and the frozen miracles of Midwinter. Arthur's filled and he's wanted and he's fucking wildly now, between Merlin welcoming around him and pushing into him, magic and flesh indistinguishable, and Merlin is still cupping Arthur's face as if he's precious, staring at him like he cannot believe this is real. 

Arthur comes when Merlin kisses him, like a fairytale, waking up. 

 

 **10.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Underage/age disparity (30/16), noncon voyeuristic surveillance of a minor, invasion of privacy, dubcon (can be read as noncon)

Arthur isn’t the superstitious type. When Morgana gives him an antique silver ring for his thirtieth birthday, telling him it will bring him luck, he rolls his eyes, but it fits perfectly on his thumb and he likes the way it looks, so he wears it anyway.

It’s coincidence when, the next day, the Turners move into a house they inherited across the street in Arthur’s swanky neighbourhood, a single mum working doubles to make ends meet and her teenaged son, a lanky kid in need of a comb and an attitude adjustment. That Hunith takes an instant liking to Arthur is only natural, even if he lets his eyes linger too long on Merlin’s pale back when he tends the garden, young muscles moving like Arthur thinks they would if he had Merlin bent over his bed, gripping the pillow as he tries not to come too soon, though he would. He’d spill all over the duvets and blush, and Arthur would fuck him deeper, get him hard again and then suck another load out of him, make him fucking beg for it and look into that young face as he swallows.

Arthur’s ring is smooth and delicious as he runs his hand over his prick, fantasising about the neighbour kid again even as he feels sick with shame. He takes up jogging just so he can strip down to his shorts and come back damp and flushed just as Merlin gets home from school, have an innocent chat with the kid while he stretches out, watch the nervous jump of Merlin’s Adam’s apple and the way he shuffles up to his door, hands clumsy with the keys. 

Arthur wouldn’t call it luck when the Turners ask him to feed their cat while they’re away for Christmas, or that he’d just got in a shipment of discreet surveillance equipment for the office, or that Merlin doesn’t password-protect his computer or clear his history.

It’s so fucking easy to find out what Merlin likes (blonds, facials, rimming, creampies, and Arthur comes with Merlin’s dirty shirt bunched up against his nose, imagining painting his pretty lips, watching come ooze out of his arse). When Merlin gets back from holiday, Arthur finds out how he touches himself, how he bites his lip to keep from making sounds his mum might hear while she’s making dinner. How when his mum leaves for work again, he strips down and gets on all fours in his bed, shoving fingers into himself and moaning like a good little slut.

Arthur lives in front of his computer, watching Merlin wank and eat and do his schoolwork. He fantasises about crawling in bed behind Merlin and nuzzling his sleep-warm neck, giving him a lazy hand job and letting the kid press his hips back to feel Arthur hard for him. These are the fantasies that make Arthur feel most ashamed after he comes, the idea that he could actually have a fucking _relationship_ with a sixteen-year-old, that they could cuddle and sleep in the same bed. It makes him ache, makes him hate himself a bit, but three weeks later, when Merlin shouts “Arthur!” as he comes, Arthur starts planning how to get inside that virginal arse.

There’s nothing lucky about Merlin’s terrified scream the next day as Arthur walks by his house. Arthur runs inside to check on him, the door unlocked and Hunith at work. Merlin’s walking out of the bathroom when Arthur finds him, towel wrapped around his pointy hips, skin reddened and damp.

“You screamed,” Arthur says, eyes fixed on Merlin’s tight, pink nipples, so fucking gorgeous this close.

“Spider,” Merlin says, plaintive, and Arthur tells himself it isn’t luck when Merlin slips on the slick tile and falls into Arthur, his towel unravelling, allowing Arthur’s hands to brush over Merlin’s hips as he steadies the kid. He looks, and Merlin’s cock is thick and swollen from the shower. It hardens under his gaze.

“I should go,” Arthur says and doesn’t mean it.

When Merlin blushes and starts apologising, Arthur doesn’t even think. He drops to his knees and sucks Merlin down, makes him come in a matter of seconds. And all through Merlin’s breathless _sorry_ s, Arthur laps at his foreskin, getting him stiff again.

Later, Merlin’s soft lips around Arthur’s thumb make the silver ring look like a good luck charm. Arthur feels fortunate as he digs in his fingers and fills the kid’s hot little hole with come.

 **11.**  
 **Pairings** : Old-man-slash-Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings** : None 

He was numb, almost naked, and his wrists where the damp rope bit into them had rubbed the skin raw with fiery efficiency. Two thugs stood either side of him, waiting for their boss to turn his back so they could take another quick, painful squeeze of his cock with their beefy hands. His only reaction to their sordid abuse was the quickening of his breath and the sweat on his brow. He would give them no satisfaction.

None of this mattered. He’d found Merlin.

“Identify yourself, slug.”

His captor shoved his weapon into Arthur’s neck with clear intent. He had to fight not to flinch; if his captor detected the glamour Gaius had put on him, he would be dead.

“Merely passing through.”

His captor forced Arthur’s chin higher. “Merely passing through,” he mimicked. “Slug or high born? Make your mind up. Either case, you stumbled onto something you’ll regret. Throw him in with the other.”

“He a magic user?”

“Don’t matter. Morgana’ll pay well for this one.” He stroked Arthur’s face. Arthur bit the inside of his lip lest he bite his captor instead.

The thugs punched him. His knees buckled and he gasped as twin lances of pain shot through his ribs. They threw him into a cell, sending him sprawling. The cell door slammed closed but he barely noticed as agony-laced victory rippled through him. 

Merlin sat a mere foot from him, the dim light from the room’s single torch casting across his beautiful, bright blue eyes.

* * *

He’d watched, his heart pounding with worry as the new prisoner had been interrogated. The old man was a tough one, he thought; others brought here to await transport to the gallows or to, even worse, Queen Morgana’s private dungeon, would’ve given in long before.

There was something different about this one. He frowned, confused, and inched his way to the captive who had fallen unconscious. With a glance over his shoulder to make sure the guards were occupied, he lay a hand on the old man’s torn-up wrists. The bonds fell away. 

He groaned, opened his eyes. “Merlin.”

“I’m not a bird,” he said with a small laugh. “Are you alright?”

The old man pushed himself up so they sat eye-to-eye. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why? Who are you?”

“Arthur. I’ve come to save you.”

“How? Why? I’m a traitor to the queen. I should die.” He couldn’t keep the fear and anger from his voice.

Arthur reached for his hand, covering it with his own. “Because you are important to me. Your name is Merlin.” 

_Merlin?_ “I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “Gaius said it would be like this.”

He startled. “There used to be a King Arthur. But—“

“Merlin, trust me? I can get us out of here, but you must trust me.”

Merlin—the name fit comfortably and was as good as any—looked doubtfully at Arthur-whoever-he-was. “What must I do?”

“This.” Arthur pulled Merlin toward him. Too shocked to protest Merlin let him, but when Arthur’s lips pressed against his, he gasped as the old man melted away. What’d once been a balding man now was a beautiful blond vision. When Arthur pulled him in for another kiss, he didn’t protest.

Arthur pulled the last of his tattered clothes free. Merlin’s quickly followed and they lay naked, face to face, their limbs entwined as they kissed. Arthur’s cock pulsed hard against Merlin’s own, he could feel the slickness of it pressed against his belly. An old, remembered ache filled him and he took Arthur’s cock into his hand, trembling with the rush of half-understood memories. 

“We’ve done this before.”

“Yes.” 

He looked at Arthur and with a cry pushed him onto his back, the need to be filled with Arthur’s pulsing cock overriding any caution that the guards may hear. Arthur steadied him, then slowly speared Merlin, inch by inch of his cock filling Merlin with pleasure-pain. Merlin pulled on Arthur’s cock, bringing it quickly to the brink. As they came at last, the final vestiges of confusion ripped through Merlin and his memories burst free. 

So did his magic.

With a roar he leaped off of Arthur. He flung his hand toward the cell door; it flew open. The guards rushed in and he stopped them in their tracks, turning them to cinder on the spot. 

Merlin turned back to Arthur, his King, his one true love, and held out his hand. 

Arthur took it and smiled. 

 

 **12.**  
No warnings provided

Sometimes Merlin's mind drifts during sex. 

It's not that fucking Arthur is _boring_. The slick grip of Arthur's arse is fucking amazing on his cock and Merlin has had to hold himself back from the edge more than once for fear of accidentally setting the bedclothes on fire.

Merlin wouldn't say that fucking Gwaine is boring either. Gwaine isn't afraid to be absolutely filthy and delights in charming his way into Merlin's brain to draw out his most obscene fantasies sets Merlin off every time. Gwaine is never satisfied if Merlin isn't sobbing while he fucks himself on Gwaine's cock, pushing himself to the limit and still begging for Gwaine to give him more. 

Neither is sex with Leon, Elyan, or Percival. And definitely not when it's all three of them fucking into him at once, Merlin splayed on top, between, underneath them, every one of his holes stretched to the limit. Every time, he thinks he'll break, that it will just be too much and he'll shatter. And then Leon strokes his side and Merlin loses himself in Percival's arms and Elyan's kisses, filled to the point of pain and pleaded for them to never stop.

Sex is never boring for Merlin. Not when it feels like coming home. When he feels like he could die in every moment and never regret it. Not when it's not just sex, but life and magic as well.

Merlin's mind drifts sometimes. 

When he feels Arthur's flesh yield to his as he sleeps inside, slow and firm, and he can _feel_ his magic playing in the peaks and valleys of Arthur's body like a happy child with a new toy. 

Right before he breaks, when he's teetering on the edge, magic rippling through him like waves on the sea, and his can see Gwaine's eyes widen in surprise when the magic starts rippling through him as well.

When Percival's rough hand closes around his throat, sword-calloused and terrifying and _perfect_ , forcing Merlin to pause so that Leon can press inside too. Then it's too much, _please, yes, more_ , will Elyan's pelvis brushing his nose, and the air around him turns sharp and heavy, like the moments before a big storm. 

Those are the moments when Merlin's mind wanders and he can see himself again, young and guileless and innocent, in his favorite clearing near Ealdor. 

His back pressed up against a tree and Will plastered against his front. 

Lips on his neck, chest, cock. 

Fingers fumbling against the rough bark of the tree and gripping tight to Will's hair. 

Will's mouth on him, so _hot_ like nothing he's ever felt, and this pressure inside him like he's about to fly apart at the seams.

His breath ripped from him in a cry of ecstasy that he can't remember ever hearing over the clap of thunder as the sky opens up and drenches them both.

Merlin sees himself trembling and laughing, high for the first time on sex and life and magic, and remembers hoping that it will always be that perfect.

 

 **13.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 **A/N:** FYI in case you didn’t know, Pagan sabbats (holidays) begin at Sundown. 

 

“Stay out of the woods on Beltane,” was something Arthur's father told him since he was a child running around shoeless with a wooden sword. A rule he insisted upon until the day he died. Even though by that time, it became almost superstition, to stay out of the forests when it was celebrating birth and life.

Until the year he didn’t.

Arthur in theory, had it all planned out. He and his knights would be back to the safety of Camelot’s walls, before sundown of the eve of Beltane. That was until a flash thunderstorm rolled in, causing the battle trained horses, to spook and scatter. 

By the time he got his horse under control, Arthur found himself on the edge of a clearing, lush and green from the spring rains. Even under the current downpour, the meadow looked peaceful.

“You look a little waterlogged, my King.”

Arthur, startled by the voice, pulled his horse around to look for it’s source. 

A young man, with hair a dark as the moonless night, and skin as pale as the moon’s face, stepped out from an oak tree. He had an air of mirth and his rather large ears, reminded Arthur of childhood stories of elves.

“Do not worry Arthur, I am not armed, and not here to harm you,” the young man nodded to Arthur’s sword, where his hand had unconsciously rested.

“You have to forgive me, I seem to be separated from my party.”

“Or it was fated. Arthur of Camelot entering the Goddess meadow, is a propitious omen indeed.”

“Who are you? What are you going on about?”

“Forgive me, I am Merlin, chosen by the Goddess, and you Arthur are here to fulfill your destiny as the vessel of the Young Oak King.”

“Vessel? Oak King? You're talking magic!” Arthur went for his sword again, but found it missing from his side.

“Of course you would want to stand out here in a storm, instead of by a nice toasty fire,” the young man, _Merlin,_ said before tilting his head to the sky. Arthur heard a susurrus of unknown words, before the sky cleared, leaving them in rain soaked grasses under a painted sunset. 

“Listen to me Arthur, you are here because your father made deals with magic, and then tried to break them in bloodshed. He even went as far, as to keep you from the Green Lady and the Oak on Beltane.”

“My father would never-”

“Your very life is because the Goddess created and blessed it. Your father knew the conditions,” Merlin’s face softened, as he walked closer to Arthur, still mounted on his horse, “Arthur, the Goddess is looking for her payment, and she will wait no longer. You become the vessel of the Young Oak King and become handfasted to the May Bride or she will take back the life she gave and Camelot will be prosperous no more.”

“But I am already to be wed. Guinevere and I are set to say our vows at summers end.”

Merlin looked at Arthur, eyes so full of sadness, Arthur truly believed the man, felt sorrow for him. 

“It won’t be that bad. I will try to be a spouse you would be proud of.”

“You?”

“I did say I was the Goddess’s chosen, did I not. I was born from and with magic, for you Arthur. I am the strength to your weakness, and the one created to rule alongside you, bringing peace to all.”

Merlin pointed to the clearing behind Arthur, “We must hurry Arthur, the sun set and the bonfires are set to light our wedding night.”

Arthur sid off his horse, standing next to Merlin, watching the fire lights of the torch procession dance through the meadow.

“Look Merlin, I don't know what -” Merlin silenced Arthur with a kiss. I was not deep and full passion of sweet and sexy. No it was soft, almost chaste, full of promise and future. 

“All you need to know is, tonight you will place your athane in my chalice, and our union will be blessed by Goddess herself. Come my king, time to take your place amidst the legend being written.” Merlin said, with one more kiss on Arthur’s cheek, before pulling him along after him.

_______________________________________

Later that evening, under the bonfires glow, Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes take the golden effulgence of magic, as he came deep within his Husband. On the air hear hear a soft whisper of a woman, _Blessed is the seed, given freely on Beltane._

 

 **14.**  
 **Pairings** : Merlin/Arthur; Merlin/Merlin  
 **Warnings** : Self-cest

“Merlin, what have you _done_?”

Merlin stared from Gaius to the other figure in the room: the copy stared back, as alike as looking in the mirror. Merlin crossed his arms. The copy crossed its arms. Cheeky bugger.

“It’s . . . I didn’t have time to do all of the things Arthur wanted me to do, and I found a spell, and . . . well.”

He never would have done but for the preparations for the upcoming tournament. What with running drills with the knights, polishing Arthur’s armour, mucking the stables, and cleaning the castle, Merlin had been at his wits end when he’d come across the spell in the library.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. 

“This is very dangerous magic.” Gaius frowned. “We have no idea how it will behave.” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. It’s rude.” The copy arched an eyebrow. “I am you, after all,” it said, addressing Merlin. 

“You’re not me.” 

“I am so.” 

“What number am I thinking of?” 

“Forty-three.” 

“Bollocks.”

“I told you.” Vindicated, the copy smiled. 

“I must recommend that you destroy it immediately,” said Gaius. “If Uther discovers this sorcery, we’re all at risk.” 

“Erm.” 

“ _Merlin_?” 

“I can’t get rid of it, not until it’s served its purpose, that’s what the spell said.” 

“Can you please call me by my name?” asked the copy. “I’m starting to get a complex.” 

Merlin groaned.

***

During the next few days, Merlin tried to lock the copy in his room, but the bloody thing kept escaping. It didn’t listen _at all_.

At night it kept him awake, chattering away.

“Move over,” it said. “You’re hogging the whole bed.” 

“It’s my bed.” Merlin refused to budge, not even when the copy swung its leg over his own and cuddled closer. 

“Hmm.” 

“What?” A sweat broke out under Merlin’s arms. 

“I can help with that.” 

“No. That’s not—” 

But the copy pressed against Merlin’s erection. “I know what you like, after all.” 

Before Merlin could protest further, the copy disappeared under the covers and yanked down Merlin’s bottoms, freeing his hard cock. It licked up the shaft slowly, once, twice, and then swallowed down to the root. 

“Ah,” Merlin panted. His hands clenched the bed sheets, caught between needing to force his cock down the warm, wet throat working him over and wanting to push the thing away. But it had been so long since he’d been touched like this, and the mouth was so sweet and . . . he came, cock throbbing.

“Mmm.” The copy lapped the last of the come from Merlin’s slit. “Keeping me around isn’t such a bad idea, is it?”

***

On the day of the tournament, Merlin actually _was_ glad to have the copy around. It fetched and carried while he helped Gaius attend to the wounded back at the castle.

That evening, Merlin trod wearily up to Arthur’s chambers. He prepared a bath and wondered how late Arthur would stay at the feast, thus condemning him to another sleepless night. When the door finally opened, two voices floated in, one distressingly familiar. Merlin dove under the bed. 

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice was warm, slurred from drink. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I’ll help you,” the copy said. “Lift up those arms.” 

Merlin’s heart pounded; from this vantage point, he had a perfect view of Arthur being undressed. 

“Well, well, what have we here?” the copy said. “This rather looks like it needs attending to.” 

“What are you-—ahh,” and then Merlin stared in fascinated horror as the copy swallowed down Arthur’s jutting cock. “Oh gods, yes.” 

It went on and on, and Merlin couldn’t stop himself from wrapping a hand around his own swollen member. Greedy sucking sounds filled the room. Finally, Arthur groaned loudly and held the copy’s head close as he released. 

Merlin came to the sight of Arthur’s cock buried down a throat that looked like his own. 

The next morning, he awoke with a mouth full of dust-bunnies and a hand covered in dried come. As carefully as possible, he crept from under the bed. Arthur looked beautiful in the soft light filtering in from the curtains, and jealous bile rose in Merlin’s throat, adding to the bitter taste in his mouth. But before he could slip away, Arthur stirred.

“Hello,” he said, and smiled, pulling back the covers. 

That evening, after a day spent in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin returned to his own. The copy was gone. 

It had, however, left a note.

_You’re welcome._

 

 **15.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none  
 **NB** : Because everyone needs a happy ending.

He found the spell tucked away between scroll and shefts of healing lore and perhaps that was the best place for it. For it told of using the heart to heal the wounds of a lifetime and the body to avert the darkness of the future by correcting the mistakes of the past. Merlin had long learned not to take such spells lightly; their promises often coming at too high a price. The spell itself was deceptively simple. _Séo heorte for þá angnesse. þæt feorhhús for þá gúdæda. Séo gástlufu for þá tóweardnesse._ Three lines of incantation and his life could become full of light and happiness or it could become the stuff of nightmares. It was love magic and anything less than true, pure love would cause a backlash of magic and intent wreaking havoc on everyone and everything they knew.

For months Merlin studied the passage, until it haunted his sleep. The words of the spell spilling from his sleeping lips; tingling in the air around him and his sleeping lover their magic waiting to be unleashed.

“Merlin,” Arthur crooned softly. His voice and light touches urging Merlin from his sleep.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?”

“I was going to ask you that,” he said with a touch of playfulness.

Merlin shook his head in confusion. “I’m fine, Arthur. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Arthur ran a finger over Merlin’s cheek. “You were chanting. Something about love and the future, I think.”

“Oh.”

Arthur barely contained his eye roll. “Yes, ‘oh’. Do you want to tell me or should I throw you in the stocks.”

Merlin’s head jerked up. “You wouldn’t dare.”

The young king merely quirked one eye.

Huffing, Merlin let his head fall back against the pillows.

Silence lingered for a few moments before Merlin began to speak.

“It’s a spell. If it works it could change things for the better.”

“What things?” Arthur questioned.

“Everything,” Merlin whispered.

“Gods, Merlin, why don’t you just do it then?”

“Arthur, this wouldn’t just affect you and I. Everyone we know, every life we touched would be affected.”

Now, it was Arthur’s turn to let out a heavy breath. “There’s a catch.”

“Two, actually. If it goes wrong it could destroy everything we know and everything you’ve built.”

“And? You said two things.”

Merlin took a deep breath. “It’s sex magic. It has-”

“-to be between two people truly and completely in love. Devoted.”

“Yes,” he whispered closing his eyes.

The bed shifted and Arthur was lying between his welcoming legs, kissing him as if the world was held in that kiss.

They rocked together, passion building to almost painful crescendos, until need gave way and Arthur slipped inside the one person he loved above all others. Pressing a kiss just under his jaw, Arthur breathed into Merlin’s ear, “Say the words.”

Merlin didn’t argue; he had faith in Arthur, he’d always had faith in him. The words fell softly at first, growing in intensity with the slide of their bodies and their panting breaths. “Séo gástlufu for þá tóweardnesse,” past Merlin’s lips on a scream and the world burned gold.

They came to with an incessant pounding on Arthur’s door.

“Go away,” Arthur groused, still more asleep than awake.

“Arthur,” Morgana’s voice rang through the door, “I need Merlin and I know he’s with you.”

Arthur and Merlin shared a stunned look as images and knowledge flooded their minds. Lance, alive and well, engaged to Gwen, Morgana and Gwaine and their not-so-secret trysts. Merlin’s magic accepted and in the open, he and Morgana helping each other as friends and confidants. Balinor in Ealdor with Hunith. And Uther acknowledging Morgana, and slowly, mistrustfully letting magic back into the land, even if at the moment it only extended to Merlin and Morgana.

Arthur smiled bright enough to out shine the sun. He pressed his forehead to Merlin’s. “We did it.”

~ond hie ælcu álifdeden gesælige á æfter.

Spell translation: Séo heorte for þá angnesse. The heart for the pain/  
þæt feorhhús for þá gúdæda. The body for the past.  
Séo gástlufu for þá tóweardnesse. The love for the future.

 

 **16.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Elena/Mithian  
 **Warning(s): --**

They say there is a witch in the woods.

***

Elena stumbles upon the house by accident. Leaves crackle under her feet as she approaches, and she startles when the door opens and a woman steps out.

Her eyes are piercing, but her smile’s kind, and her clothes are old but clean; her hands white against the faded brown of her skirt. Her long, dark braid hangs over her shoulder, neat and perfect. 

Elena has never been able to get her hair to behave. It’s the colour of wheat, but as messy as a bird’s nest.

***

“I used to be a princess, too” Mithian says in the soft light that filters through the trees, scatters, diffused through the windowpane, making her look younger, a little bit fragile.

Elena gasps, then swallows thickly. “What happened?”

“The inevitable.” Mithian says with a small shrug. “All princesses must go into the woods to become women, it’s how stories go.”

“What about the prince? There’s always a prince.”

“There are no princes, Elena. Only witches.”

The silence’s thick, and Elena shifts on the hardwood bench. “I had a stepmother,” she says. It falls between them like a confession.

Mithian gives her an amused grin and stands up, gathering her skirts around her legs, high on her naked thighs, so she can sit across the bench in front of Elena with a grace that can only be partly taught.

Mithian leans forward with laughter in her eyes and brushes Elena’s lips with hers. “I was the prettiest,” she says. Elena snorts and presses forward.

***

“There’s a black tower to the north,” Elena says. “They say there’s a dark witch living there. They say she can make a man mad, make him see his fears until his will is hers to control. They say she seduced a queen that way.”

Mithian rolls her eyes and wipes her forehead with a corner of her apron, stirring the cauldron over the fire some more. The air’s thick and stuffy, and Elena sees things flicker at the edges of her vision; impossible things.

“They say a lot of rubbish,” Mithian says, her hair sticky and wet on her temples.

Elena just frowns, cuts a mushroom and takes a piece between her fingers, smelling the sweet, earthy aroma of it that makes her want to eat it, stick it to the roof of her mouth with her tongue. Mithian stops her with a firm hand around her wrist. 

There is a witch in the woods they say. She has a poison garden.

“The queen seduced the witch,” Mithian says, her breath even hotter on Elena’s cheek than the air around them, and Elena turns her head into it, closes her lips on Mithian’s jaw, licks the saltiness and sweat.

She eats Mithian’s moans instead, then the wetness between her thighs, sweeter than any mushroom.

***

“I know a water-witch that could heal that for you,” Mithian says, trailing a finger on the long red scar between Elena’s breasts. “She lives by a lake, not two days east from here.”

Elena shakes her head and smiles down at her. Mithian’s chin is against her hipbone and her soft breaths tickle Elena’s bare stomach. “I had a stepmother,” Elena says, because it explains everything. Mithian raises herself up to trace the scar with her tongue. Elena shivers.

“Hearts are powerful,” Mithians says, dragging her tongue higher, up Elena’s neck. She slips a thigh between Elena’s legs and pushes it against her. Everything about Mithian’s skin is soft, her muscles move under Elena’s hands, goosebumps erupt under her fingertips.

Elena rides Mithian’s thigh with rough, urgent moves of her hips, leaving wetness all over it that shimmers slightly in the candlelight. 

She directs Mithian with a trembling hand to put her lips on her breasts, her nipples. Mithian grunts and moans, her mouth full, and Elena arches against her, fingers tight in her hair as Mithian pushes two fingers against Elena’s clit, slick and hard and demanding. 

Elena moves faster, and Mithian grinds down suddenly on Elena’s own leg, pushing hard on her body, crying out against her skin, and the world explodes into light, hot and trembling inside of her.

There are shadows on the ceiling that shift in rhythm to their breathing, into shapes Elena thinks she recognizes, like shadowplays.

The woods are dark outside, and no birds sing.

***

“They say there are two witches in these woods,” Elena says with a smile.

“There are witches in every woods.”

Elena laughs.

 

 **17.**  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con (magic gone awry), arse worship (of sorts), tentacles (of sorts), orgasm denial

A loud bang rings through the flat, loudly enough to be heard through Arthur’s bedroom door. The man in question looks up from the essay document staring back at him from his computer screen. Frowning, he rises from his chair and treads on bare feet to his bedroom door and opens it. There’s no one there, and the flat is once again quiet.

That’s weird. Merlin usually lets him know when he’s messed something up. And by ‘let know’, Merlin usually shouts at the top of his lungs to tell Arthur he’s not hurt. Which is good, because Merlin is more than a little accident-prone - especially with his wild magic and all.

Carefully, quietly, he walks out into the sitting room and down the hall towards the kitchen. Better check up on the idiot, making sure he’s not in some sort of trouble. Again.

Merlin is indeed in the kitchen, but something’s wrong. A big pan is lying upside down on the floor, obviously dropped as Merlin's tried to remove it from the topmost shelf, where it belongs. That’s not what’s wrong, though. No, it’s that Merlin’s leaning heavily on the counter, standing with his back to Arthur, breathing harshly for no apparent reason. His hands are clenching at the edge so hard his fingers are turning white and his head is bent, making it impossible for Arthur to see his face.

Arthur’s just about to ask what’s wrong when he notices the thick, glowing tendrils of magic and chokes on his own spit. The magic itself isn’t unusual – Merlin uses it often around the flat, to practice – but never for _this_ use... 

The tendrils are swirling around Merlin’s middle, caressing his arse, gently lifting his shirt to expose his back, and Arthur’s pretty sure why Merlin dropped the pan. The magic’s not only under his shirt, but inside his trousers, too... When Merlin lets out a low whining and doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself from jutting his arse out, _onto_ the magic, every ounce of Arthur’s blood seem to rush south. At a loss for what to do, he just stands there, watching Merlin writhe and sweat – his neck is glistening with it – in front of him.

Merlin’s legs are trembling with exertion and just as Arthur’s thinks that he should reach out to steady him, he sinks down to his knees and leans forward onto his elbows on the floor, head still bent, breath escaping him in short puffs. The new position gives Arthur a beautiful view of Merlin’s behind – a behind he has sneaked glances at for _months_. Oh, the dreams he’s had of stroking, licking, fucking that arse. He licks his lips.

Involuntarily, he lets out a weak moan and gets down on his knees, too. Merlin doesn’t react and Arthur’s not sure if he didn’t hear or if he’s too distracted to care that Arthur’s there, right behind him. He takes a firm grip on Merlin’s trousers and starts wriggling them off. Inch by inch, they reveal more and more of that gorgeous, pale skin.

Merlin groans and mumbles something incomprehensible. The magic tendrils expand and Arthur can feel one caressing his cheek as he finally manages to expose Merlin’s arse completely. He swallows audibly, stares at the scene in front of him. The tendrils are not only caressing, but effectively _fucking_ Merlin. 

“Arthur, Arthur,” Merlin moans.

Arthur’s breathless when he answers, “Yeah...” 

He reaches out and traces a finger along the rim of Merlin’s hole, where the magic stretches it out and pulses contentedly. Merlin whines at the touch, but inches back nonetheless.

“ _Arthur..._ ”

The magic is out of control, even Arthur can see that. It’s fucking Merlin slowly and surely, stretching his hole wider with every thrust, while keeping him from coming by twisting and squeezing around the base of his cock. Sweat is running along Merlin’s back, and Arthur can only imagine the desperation he must feel.

But he doesn’t know what to do, except watch. And watch he does, commits it all to memory while stroking the taut skin around the magic.

Merlin shudders with a mixture of pleasure and frustration when the magic makes a particularly nasty thrust.

“Just... help me, Arthur. It’ll stop if... Ah!” He groans, but is sounds strangely similar to a sob. “I can’t... It won’t stop until... _Ah, Ar_ thur! Just, just... fuck me, _now_!”

Oh... Oh! _Well_ , Arthur thinks as he fumbles with his zipper. _Anything to help_.

 

 **18.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** systemic oppression of magic users

Morgana’s lips are red around words of magic on the eleven o’clock news. She was smart. She kept her video just tasteful enough that the news networks can run it uncut, but everyone knows what she’s doing with her eyes gold and her hands teasingly out of frame. She gasps and shifts against silk sheets, and she watches the camera for long enough that everyone knows it isn’t faked.

 _PM’s Daughter in Sexy Sorcery Scandal!_ screams the text scrolling under the video as her mouth moves silently while someone talks over it about the natural immorality of sorcerers.

Merlin clicks his television off the second they mention a comment from the PM’s son. It’s bad enough knowing Morgana just condemned herself to a life of never being taken seriously. Seeing Arthur will only make it worse.

*

Arthur is drunk on his voicemail later. “Merlin … God, I don’t even know why I’m calling. You must have seen.” He breathes in and out. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to say to you, I—fuck. Fuck you for being a sorcerer, fuck you for _leaving me_ —”

It’s the first time he’s heard Arthur’s voice in six months, but he deletes the rest unheard.

Merlin told him because when he was with him he started to wonder if it was true, if he was some sort of insatiable creature meant only for sex. With Arthur inside him, thrusting so deep, taking him apart from the inside, or with Merlin’s mouth wrapped around his cock and moaning for it, it sometimes felt that way. He could get lost in Arthur, and most of him thought it was love but part of him _wondered_ , and then he had to say it, because he knew Arthur would end it when he wasn’t strong enough.

It was a clean break, and Merlin was almost fine, and now there are Morgana’s magic-gold eyes on his television set and Arthur’s voice on his phone, and what the fuck does he do with that?

*

In the morning, Merlin goes to work. It isn’t as if he has another option. It’s not a good job, but it’s better than the jobs most of the sorcerers he knows have, posing for pictures, shooting porn. All waiting tables takes is a shirt with buttons left open and tight trousers and making something small in the back room hover for hours so the customers can see his eyes, groups of giggling women and winking businessmen.

Nobody on the train there can talk about anything but Morgana. Merlin wishes they were talking about the brave speech she made before it became obvious what she was doing, but they’re all clicking their tongues, talking about Uther Pendragon’s shame, and on all the screens they’re showing Morgana’s face in the last gasp of orgasm, over and over till it stops meaning anything, becomes just another pretty sorceress showing them what she can do.

Morgana’s waiting for him in front of the restaurant. “I have a proposition for you,” she says, and Merlin can’t bring himself to object as she leads him away.

*

“We’re going to start a revolution,” Morgana says back at her flat, which the press haven’t found yet. She’s smoking like a chimney and acting like the last time she saw Merlin wasn’t the day he left her brother shouting that he never wanted to see him again.

Merlin can’t bring himself to pretend it will be that easy. He knows better by now. “We?”

“The time has come, Merlin. Nimueh Priest already called me with her support. She’s willing to take a stand, but we need you.”

“And you think it will work?”

It’s not an honest question, more his way of scoffing, but Morgana takes him seriously. “You convinced my brother, Merlin. I have every faith that you can convince the world.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I didn’t convince Arthur of anything.” He thinks of the voicemail he deleted, and of their fight on that last, terrible day, Arthur asking how many people he’s fucked, vicious and hurt.

In answer, Morgana presses a button on her phone, and there’s a terrible recording of Arthur’s voice, probably from the television: “I think magic can do more than what we limit it to, and I refuse to see my sister, and those who like her, limited.”

The recording stops. Merlin knows he’s playing too much of his hand, but he still says “I’m in.”

Morgana smiles.

 

 **19.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Verbal consent not given in the situation (but they’re in a consensual relationship and the situation is familiar), D/s, orgasm delay, unexplained magical ways of fucking, unprofessional workplace shenanigans

“Don’t tell me the Avalon Project is postponed again,” Arthur says when Merlin enters his office. His head is bent over the papers on his desk. “I will _end_ you.”

Merlin smiles, anticipation running hot in his gut. 

The cubicles outside Arthur’s private office are all empty by now, Merlin’s lamp the only one casting the room in a warm, orange glow.

“You can’t come.”

Arthur’s demeanor changes abruptly. His shoulders relax immediately and his mouth (opened in an attempt to say something else) snaps shut with a click. Looking up at Merlin, he straightens in his seat. 

Merlin’s dick twitches in his trousers from that look alone. The way a single sentence from him can flip the switch between boss and… whatever this is, is maddening and crazy and _hot_. 

Stopping in front of Arthur’s desk, he leans over it and says, “You can’t come until I tell you to.”

Arthur swallows noticeably. He sits still in his chair. 

Not that many good things came out of the fact that Merlin accidentally revealed his magic to Arthur. It was mostly drawbacks, really, like being expected to do the job five times faster. But this is one advantage: being able to rid Arthur of his clothes in 0.1 seconds. 

Other advantages include:

1\. Feeling his magic skim over warm skin, raising goose pimples in its wake, all while sitting atop Arthur’s desk. Distance is no matter.  
2\. His hand is free to wrap tightly around his own cock as Arthur shakes under his touch. 

Finding Arthur still loose from this morning, Merlin gently presses his magic inside, watching Arthur grip the armrests as his legs slide further apart. Arthur’s hips push up from the seat making him clench around the impossibly solid presence of magic, his lips parted. 

It’s clear, immediately, when Merlin hits the right spot because Arthur goes rigid for a split second before sinking into the chair, his breath coming in gasps. 

There’s a strangled, “ _Merlin_ ” as Arthur writhes, eyes squeezed shut.

“So good,” Merlin says, voice quiet, as he wraps another tendril of magic around the base of Arthur’s cock, making sure he can’t come. 

He loves seeing Arthur’s cock twitch and harden as the feeling of Merlin nailing the perfect angle over and over makes him incoherent and flushed. His unfairly fit body twists to meet the steady pressure Merlin gives, his fingers whitening around the armrest.

Jerking himself quickly and impatiently, Merlin takes in the way Arthur’s cock strains under the magic, his stomach muscles jumping restlessly. His body is bending and arching under Merlin’s touch – his _control_ – and it’s fucking beautiful. The orgasm slams into Merlin, making him heave for breath as he comes all over the floor, some of it hitting Arthur’s thigh. 

Arthur’s every breath comes out shaky. His head is turned to the side, pressing into the back of the chair as he takes the fucking from Merlin’s magic. When Merlin finds his wits again, Arthur is looking at him wide-eyed. He whines, oversensitive and right on the edge of an orgasm he can’t have. 

“Shh,” Merlin says, sliding off the desk and coming to rest on his knees between Arthur’s spread legs. “Don’t be impatient.”

Biting his lip, Arthur tries to still the movement of his hips, but it only lasts a moment. His brow furrows as the sounds he tries not to make keep slipping past his lips. 

Merlin smiles, running his fingers up Arthur’s trembling thighs. He takes a moment to just look, studying the way Arthur can’t sit still, the way his cock leaks all over his stomach while looking painfully hard and flushed.

“Good,” he says, eventually, taking Arthur in his mouth as a reward for just trying so hard.

There’s a loud, wrecked moan as Arthur’s cock leaks pre-cum on his tongue. It’s so hard and heavy in his mouth, skin smooth and hot, and Merlin feels the thumping pulse in it. He can _taste_ the desperate need to come. 

He hollows his cheeks around it, enveloping it in wet heat that makes Arthur’s fingers twist into his hair with desperate little _uh_ s. 

While pulling his magic away from the base of Arthur’s cock, finally, he doesn’t let the magic stop fucking into him. The effect is instantaneous as Arthur arches up and shouts, his whole body shaking in relief because Merlin let him. 

 

 **20.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Dub Con

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here now. Could be days, weeks. It’s difficult to know how much time has passed when there barely any light and nothing to fill his days, save cold and black and pain.

He has no magic here. It’s as if someone has placed their hand on his throat and squeezed out everything that makes him unique. He’s just as vulnerable as if he had never been born with the legacy of the old religion in his veins.

He isn’t Emrys here, just Merlin, and Merlin can only feel pain. Can only whimper when the black sap of the Mandrake root drips on his face: sticky, cold, thick like tar.

“I’m so sorry for this,” Morgana had said to him, “truly I am, Merlin. I want to help you if you’ll let me.”

He had laughed. But now he almost believes her. She’s known pain like this; known madness and nothing but dark. He almost wants to give in, just so he can tell her he understands, cry on her shoulder.

But then he thinks of Arthur and he remembers why he can’t.

Merlin’s lips are chapped and split. His mouth’s so dry that he’s sure he’d do anything for a cup of water. Morgana had brought him some the first day, but he’d spat it on her boots and said he’d rather die of thirst. 

“So brave, so stupid,” she had said to him. “Does Arthur have any idea how loyal you are, Merlin? Do you think he’d do this for you?”

He doesn’t feel very brave now. He squats behind a pillar and tries to hide; sits on the ground with his knees pulled up and his eyes closed. If they’re closed he can’t see them: Nimueh, Agravaine, Borden. But when he opens them again, just for a second, Will is right in front of him: his wounds seeping black. 

“Why couldn’t you save me?” he asks, his eyes harsh and unforgiving. “It’s so dark here, Merlin, always so dark.”

“I’m sorry, Will. I just couldn’t— I—” Merlin’s voice comes out cracked and raw and Will’s face turns white, glowing. He grabs Merlin, his hands clawing and desperate. His screams turn Merlin’s blood to ice.

Merlin drags himself away, his arse sliding along the filthy ground. His hand catches on something sharp and he flinches, but he doesn’t stop until he’s backed up against the wall. He starts to sob, breathless and pathetic.

“Shhhh.” There are hands on his face, stroking his cheekbones and Merlin can’t look, just clutches his head saying, “you’re not real,” over and over and hoping he’ll go away.

“Idiot. Of course I’m real.”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur laughs, his eyes crinkling and Merlin so wants to believe. If he could just reach out and touch— he stops himself, clutching his hands into fists.

“Merlin.” Arthur leans forward, whispers against Merlin’s mouth, “It’s all right now, I’m here.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, just whimpers when Arthur’s mouth brushes against his.

Arthur’s kisses are insistent, claiming, and Merlin doesn’t resist. He can’t.

“I know what you want,” Arthur says, in between kisses. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

Merlin groans when Arthur’s deft fingers unlace his breeches and wrap around his cock. “Please,” he says, “please just—”

“Just this,” Arthur breathes against Merlin’s neck, “and then I’ll take you out of here.”

Merlin shuts his eyes. It’s easier to pretend that way.

Arthur’s hand is cool on his cock and Merlin just gives in, thrusts his hips forward and drives himself into Arthur’s fist, forward and back while Arthur whispers low and filthy about how beautiful Merlin is, how much Arthur’s wanted this, how long he’s wanted him.

When Merlin comes, he scrapes his fingernails across the ground, watching as they collect dirt and when he looks up to meet Arthur’s eyes they’re green.

“Oh Merlin,” Morgana says, her hand stroking his face, “my brother doesn’t deserve your love, you know. All you have to do is let me take care of you and all of this can stop.”

Merlin lifts his chin and grits his teeth, his hands shaking. “Never.”

“So be it.” Morgana stands, her skirts swirling about her. “Let’s see how long you last in here without my help, shall we? Oh and Merlin?”

Her eyes glow gold and her face changes back to Arthur, mouth upturned and eyes ice-blue. “Please do yourself up, would you? It’s obscene.” 

 

 **21.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

"Another gift?" Arthur says, sitting down. He's tired from a busy day on the casino floor, Merlin's show had run long and involved a horrid old woman demanding free tickets for a year because she'd been traumatised by the treatment of pigeons, and all he wants to do is curl up around something. Preferably Merlin, but as Merlin's shown about as much interest in that as his whiskey has, Arthur chooses the whiskey. "And what does today's say?"

Merlin glares at the card. It's innocuous enough from the outside, but as it's the third of these such packages, Arthur knows he's wary. When he finally opens it, the title lines of Heart's ['Magic Man'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDwKuYWVMvo) come bursting forth.

Merlin shuts it with a groan and throws it down on the table. It spins a couple times on one corner, then falls elegantly onto its back. "You've got to be kidding me."

Arthur snorts, and picks up the card, opening and shutting it again. "No, Merlin, I don't think they are, considering." _Considering that card was a proper pain in the arse to get made._ He inclines his chin at Merlin's hands. "What's in the box? Cufflinks again? Another thousand-pound pen?"

Merlin's already opened it. Arthur tries not to think about how he's thoughtlessly wound the decorative ribbon round his fingers in an intricate knot. "…it appears to be… cards."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "That's rather droll."

But Merlin's opened the case— _Crystal, thanks very much_ —and fanned the cards out easily, rippling through them with dawning awe on his face. "With us on them. Arthur, look, you're the King and Morgana's the Queen and Gwaine's the Jack and—" He huffs out a laugh. "And of course I am the Joker. Lovely."

"Naturally."

"Arthur, these cards—" He looks up at Arthur, and for a moment Arthur's sure the game's over, but his gaze skates away, looking at the crowd behind the one-way glass. "Who on earth…"

Arthur shrugs, then picks up the tumbler once more. Disappointment is a familiar bitter flare in his belly.

\---

It's a pretty standard trick, a show opener, a getting-back-to-the-roots-of-magic sort of thing, so why Merlin's left it to the last tonight, Arthur has no idea. He tunes it out, working through the week's numbers on his tablet, and is completely unprepared for hearing his own name through the speakers. He looks up, blinking.

Merlin's standing on stage, huge ears and huge grin and all, holding up the trump card from the trick. Arthur squints, then flicks his gaze to the screen where a larger version of Merlin is projected, and his eyes widen: It's the same card he'd given Merlin the day previous, only instead of Merlin as the Joker, Arthur sees his own face.

Gobsmacked, he turns back to Merlin onstage, who is clapping his hands and exhorting the crowd to do the same. "Everybody, let's get the man of the house up here, shall we? Pendragon Casino would be nothing without the Pendragon himself, am I right?"

Arthur purses his lips, but his casino is his life, and he can't resist Merlin's smile on a good day, and once he reaches the stage amidst Merlin's closing patter, Merlin's looking at him fondly, like Arthur's a slow child and the best surprise party ever, at the same time, and Arthur's so _confused_ —

As the curtain drops in front of them, Arthur opens his mouth, but Merlin's there first, his hands curled in Arthur's clothing. He presses his lips to Arthur's once. "You, my dear Arthur, are the Fool."

Arthur feels hope unfurl in his belly, spread through his limbs like whiskey. "Apparently." And he leans in and captures Merlin's lips, for real this time.

Better than whiskey.

"Wanker," he says eventually, slightly out of breath. "You let me get through three gifts."

Merlin grins, he can feel it. "I liked them." Then he feels Merlin's hands in his pants, and _oh God they really are magic hands_ , because Arthur's knees are embarrassingly weak astoundingly quickly. "All you had to do was ask."

Arthur bites at Merlin's jaw, fumbling much less gracefully with reciprocating, relieved to find a groove once he actually has his palm on Merlin's gratifyingly aroused cock. And it all escalates quickly, and it's bloody _glorious_ , sharp and perfect and in their pants like teenagers.

He noses into a kiss as they come down. "You could've asked, too, you know."

"And miss the card with 'Magic Man' in? Never."

"Wank. Er."

"Magic. Man."

And Arthur finds he agrees.

 

 **22.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** canon compliant death scene

 

Arthur knows magic. 

He knows it like he knows the rise and fall of his own breathing, like he knows the pattern of lines on the palm of his hand, like he knows the weight of his sword at his hip. He can almost remember a time when he was very young and the knowledge was new and strange, a time when he thought that perhaps there was some fine, shining gold thread of magic woven into his very being along with his breath and his body's strength.

By the time he meets Merlin, Arthur has long chosen to forget. 

~

"You were gone. For a suspiciously long period of time."

Merlin leans against the door to Arthur's chambers and stares down at his feet. His jacket and boots are damp, as is the dark hair that curls around his ears. "I tried to tell you. I --"

Arthur stands and winces; he's still woozy with fever and pain from the fight with the Questing Beast, but he wants to get to Merlin before he decides to give anymore oddly heartfelt speeches. "If you ever need to leave again, you come to me first."

Merlin frowns a bit. He swallows and nods, and looks about ready to say something.

So Arthur kisses him -- really kisses him, presses his mouth to Merlin's and slowly parts his lips until he can taste the warmth of Merlin's tongue against his own. Merlin resists for a half-second, then yields as if he knew that this is what would happen when he returned, that Arthur would kiss him until they both ran out of breath. 

"Of course, I'd really rather you not leave at all," Arthur says.

"I'll see what I can do about that." Merlin smiles, and looks about to say something else again, and then he just laugh. 

And Arthur can't help but laugh, too, not with the way sudden happiness and gratitude bubbles up in his chest. His shoulder hurts and he feels a bit dizzy-headed, but he's somehow grateful for all that, too, when Merlin tumbles him back onto the bed. He wants to feel and remember everything from this moment -- the ache in his shoulder and the press of Merlin's chest against his, the way Merlin's hands slide up under his tunic to pull it off so much more effectively than usual. 

He thinks he'll always remember the first touch of Merlin's lips on his chest, kissing over the scars he's collected, and the wet trail he licks down to Arthur's stomach. It tickles when Merlin laughs against his skin, and Arthur's breath catches sharply when Merlin mouths over his erection. Arthur comes too fast the first time, and the first time he jacks Merlin off, he's unsteady and eager. But Merlin smiles and sighs and kisses him so many times over that Arthur remembers those moments so much better than the fumbling ones. 

Merlin stays that night and so many nights after that Arthur starts to forget the nights that came before.

~

It's never as good as that first, long summer, though. Something changes between the two of them, something fine and close that Arthur suspects they both hold close to their hearts, and that he fears wouldn't have come between them if he'd let Merlin say what he wanted that first night they had together. 

~

In the end, Arthur knows two things:

First, that he is dying, and that he cannot bear that Merlin has to watch his moment of dying stretch out over so many days. 

Second, that he could have harmed Merlin, not truly, not for a magic that now he can remember threading through his own life from his earliest days. 

 

 **23.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** AU

"I know these caves," Leon says, flat, exhausted. "We have them now."

"Merlin is definitely with them." Elyan comes up to join them on the rocky hillside overlooking the caves where they had cornered the Druids. 

Arthur blinks, but manages to hold back any other reactions when Elyan drags Gwaine into view, the rogue knight grinning with all his teeth like a particularly muddy, unfriendly skull. "We'll catch up with them before sunset," he tells Gwaine, for want of anything else to say.

Gwaine doesn't answer at first, cracks his neck, brushes some drier bits off himself. Scratches the back of his head. "One more day," he says at last. "They'll be out of Camelot. Let them go."

"We don't want to hurt anyone." Arthur closes his eyes, exhales. "My father is dead. The Purge is over. I've lifted the ban on magic. I want... I just want to let him know it's safe to come home."

Gwaine scratches the back of his head again—the drying mud had to be itching, especially in the late afternoon sun. His hand reappears with a dagger, and Elyan and Leon tackle him immediately. Arthur motions to them to let him up, without the blade. Gwaine bares his teeth at them all, losing even the pretense of a smile.

It's hopeless. He let things go too far, took too long to act. Arthur turns back to watch the distant mouth of the caves. A tiny form moves below. Perhaps it's Merlin; perhaps not. "Let him go," he tells Elyan and Leon without looking at Gwaine. Elyan sucks in a breath to protest, but Leon obeys immediately.

"They're not defenseless even during the day," Gwaine says, not moving. "We didn't kill Lancelot and Percival."

Of course they didn't. More traitors. Arthur is happy for it, nonetheless. "Tell Merlin I won't follow them anymore." It earns him a funny look from all three; Arthur wonders what he looks like. "Leon, Elyan. Tell the men to stop and make camp." 

Gwaine doesn't go until he's seen them set up Arthur's command tent and the sun dips too low for them to march to the cave before dark.

\-----

He's working on the grain reports he brought along when the candle flickers and goes out in a sudden gust. He puts down his pen and rises from his chair to the soft beat of wings outside his tent. All the encampment is dark and silent—too silent. 

"Merlin?" he asks, hates how hopeful he sounds when he should be worried about his men, about himself, even.

Even as his eyes adjust to the dark, black velvety fur brushes past his hand, and he catches on immediately, grabs the sinewy panther's body with both hands; laughs when a bristly muzzle rubs against his cheek and neck like an affectionate oversized cat. He falls to his knees on the threadbare rug and hugs the bastet tight, feels feathery wings fold around his back.

"Clever," he says, chokes a little. "Cursing them so they can defend themselves." The hard muscles shift under his hands, the dense fur melts away and becomes smooth skin. Arthur buries his nose in Merlin's neck, breathes in the smell of human beneath the animal musk. 

"Arthur... Gwaine told me—I heard about Uther."

He kisses Merlin to stop the words, clasps him close and hard, as though he could force them into one body and let them be forever joined that way, and Merlin clutches him just as fiercely. They have to stop for air, and Merlin starts tugging at his clothes, clumsier than he had been as Arthur's manservant, though that might have been because Arthur couldn't let go, trying to press as much of himself to Merlin's warm naked body as fast as Merlin could strip him.

Finally, Merlin pushes him back onto the rug and stops, sitting on his thighs. The night air is cold on his skin, and he shivers. "I'm sorry. I never wanted you to have to choose..."

He rests his hands on Merlin's hips, rubbing his thumbs in the hollows. "I did what was right. Take the Druids somewhere safe. I know they have no reason to trust me."

Framing Arthur's face with his hands, Merlin bends forward to kiss him again, tenderly, and rocks his hips against Arthur's, letting their cocks slide together. "I'll come back, I promise."

Arthur reaches down to fist them both; he can't tell who groans and comes first, but they stay together until dawn.

 

 **24.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None  
First dates never went well for Arthur. He couldn’t recall the last time he'd had a second one. 

But this one had gone so splendid he'd already decided to ask for another date. Right after he makes Merlin come for the second time tonight.

"Fuck-fuck..." Merlin tugged at Arthur's hair. "I'm gonna..." 

Arthur really wanted to shock and impress Merlin by shallowing it all, but he was smart. They hadn't even made it past the sofa, let alone talked about safe sex. 

And sitting back, using his hand, gave him the opportunity to see Merlin's face when he came, eyes wide, biting his lip, like he's surprised it was happening to him.

While Merlin cleaned himself with the t-shirt Arthur had offered him, Arthur decided to ask, so Merlin would know he had serious intentions and it wasn't just sex.

"Was wondering if you wanted to, if you don't have other plans, spend tomorrow together - lunch or -"

"Oh, I would - really, but I have plans. I-"

"It's alright. I understand."

"Don't pout." He nibbled at Arthur's bottom lip."I want to. But I volunteer at a hospital. The kids - they expect me. I can't let them down. Sunday, maybe?"

"Yeah. Sunday." Arthur felt silly for having felt disappointed a moment ago. "What'd you do at hospital?

"Don't laugh."

"I won't. Well, unless you're a clown."

"No!" Merlin scrunched up his face. "Creepy bastards! No. I'm a magician."

"A wh-what?"

"A magician. You know, rabbits, doves, coins out of ears. Though, I'm much more talented than that - the kids love it. Eat it up. And... what's wrong?"

"Nothing." 

"No... you seem angry with me."

"I'm not. I simply recalled that I'd made other plans and you should go."

"What the fuckin' bloody hell?"

"Alright. I'll be honest." Arthur had really liked Merlin. _Damn._ "I'm not going to get involved with a con artist."

"Wha'?"

"Con artist. A fake. A trickster. Magic isn't real."

"Oh, Arthur."

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not the one lying to children."

Merlin sighed. "They don't mind. They think it's fun."

"It's not fun!" Arthur heard his own voice, a little too loud, and lowered it. "They believe in something and then they find out it's not real, that you've been lied to for so long."

"Who told _you_ magic wasn't real?"

"My father."

"How old were you?"

Arthur stood up and towered over Merlin, still sitting there looking sad. "This isn't therapy. It doesn't matter. Magic doesn't exist. You're a liar. Leave."

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not leaving." Merlin stood up, facing Arthur, defiant. "I'm not a liar. Magic is real."

"Fuck." Arthur threw his hands in the air. "You're a nutter! Brilliant. Fucking brilliant."

"Arthur... look." Merlin held out the palm of his hands where a ball of bluish light had appeared. "It's real and I have it."

It had to be a trick. Arthur grabbed Merlin's wrist, the light brightened. He twisted and turned his arm. He waved his hand around Merlin's body, looking for the source.

"Look at me," Merlin whispered. 

Arthur looked into a pair of gold eyes. He gasped and walked backwards until his back hit a table. "This is... insane. It can't be."

The light disappeared. Smiling, Merlin ran his hand through his hair. The strands that fell back into place were a bright pink. "The kids love that one." He shook his head and his gorgeous black hair returned.

Memories came rushing back to Arthur. "When I was a kid, I loved magic. I believed with all my heart it existed. Then my father - he thought kids should know what the real world has in store for them. And he made me learn how all the tricks were done, the illusions. So I knew. But now... there's you." 

Merlin had stepped closer while Arthur spoke. With a finger, he raised Arthur's chin until their eyes met. "And magic."

He stroked Merlin's cheek. "Are you real, Merlin?"

"I'm real." 

"This is..." Arthur laughed, threw his head back and let his happiness out. "You're not crazy. But this is crazy. Magic's real. I have so many questions. What can you do? When did you find out? Have you... wait... why did you tell me? You just met me."

Merlin kissed both of Arthur's hands before pressing them up against his chest. "Because the last time I told you at the very end. This time I wanted you to know the truth from the beginning."


	2. Group B (Warnings)

**25.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Book of Love, background Ygraine/Nimueh  
 **Warning(s):** Mild, mild dub-con. 

Arthur’s shoulders hunched as his mother opened the front door. 

“Found your boy here throwing eggs at my house,” Balinor said, handing Arthur off by his collar. 

Ygraine’s face transformed from polite confusion to outrage. “He did _what_?”

“My lawn needs mowing. I’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning, Mr. Pendragon?” Balinor said, lifting one intense eyebrow. 

“Not a chance in he—”

“How does seven sound?” Ygraine interrupted, covering Arthur’s mouth. 

“Sounds just fine, Ms. DuBois,” Balinor smiled. 

“It’s Pendragon!” Arthur shouted after his broad, retreating back. Ygraine swatted him through the front door.

\---

“This has to stop, Arthur.” Ygraine rubbed at her forehead, weary. Arthur dropped his gaze to his feet.

“Little magic freak,” he muttered. 

“Excuse me?” Ygraine’s head snapped up. “What did you just say?” 

“He’s a freak!” Arthur said, too loud, too forceful. Ygraine reared back like she’d been slapped. And then Nimueh padded into the living room. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Father says magic corrupts.” 

Nimueh grinned, like she found him amusing. “Your father is biased, Arthur. Merlin’s done nothing to warrant your abuse.” 

“Yeah, unlike some people,” Arthur said. 

“Arthur James Pendragon!” Ygraine’s voice was severe. “That’s enough! You are grounded, young man.” 

“Fine!” Arthur said, not waiting to hear how long his sentence would last. His door was old and heavy and he slammed it hard enough to rattle the casing because his father wasn’t there to punish him for it anymore.

\---

He snuck out around midnight to raid the kitchen and then the library for something to read during his internment.

He snagged Sagan and Hitchens and Hawking, picturing his father’s approving smile. 

And then he saw the new book on Nimueh’s desk, still in plastic. He took that too, out of spite.

\---

He flicked on the lamp by his bed and slipped the book from its cellophane sleeve.

“ _The Book of Love_ ,” he read, snorting. Flipping it open to a random spot, he found an abstract picture of a mouth on the left-facing page that mirrored itself on the right. Arthur squinted at the etchings, then recoiled as they began to develop color and shape. The book twitched, leaping from his hands to scuttle down his body. 

He gasped, panicking, when two pairs of lips found his limp cock and balls and began to mouth over them. 

“Stop, stop!” he whispered, frantic, but the book had already sucked his cock in and he didn’t want to risk tugging it off. 

Then he realised the book had _sucked his cock in_ , was pulling at him through the fabric of his pants. His mouth fell open and he dropped back to his elbows, stiffening so fast it made him dizzy. The second mouth found his balls and tongued them firmly. 

“Oh, Christ,” Arthur said, and came in his shorts.

\---

He assumed he was safe when the book sat inert while he tugged off his soiled pants, but it flapped right back onto his crotch the minute his cock popped free.

Arthur stilled, breath shuddering out of him as the mouths suckled and hummed. 

He lasted longer the second go, letting his head drop back and rocking his hips up, the dry smell of old paper blending with his spunk while he bit back high, thin noises. 

He fucked out his second load with his hand pressed hard to the book’s spine. Arthur was pretty sure he heard it moan.

\---

The book fluttered to a new page. What Arthur saw made him feel faint.

He wondered what Hawking would think about the quantum mechanics involved in bending his dick into some separate dimension that was not, in fact, through the backside of the book. 

Arthur humped the tight little snatch he’d been given against the corner of his bed, hands clenching creases in the dampening pages.

\---

Nimueh found him passed out in bed the next morning. “Arthur,” she sighed, like the beginning of a conversation she really didn’t want to have.

Arthur’s knee accidentally nudged the book under his sheets, knocking it to the ground with a wet smack. 

Nimueh’s eyes widened. Arthur froze. 

“Um,” he said. 

“Did you—?” 

“Er. Well...”

“Arthur. That was a gift for Gaius and Alice’s wedding.” 

“Nimueh?” Ygraine called from down the hall. Arthur and Nimueh’s shoulders hunched at the same time, instinctively. 

They looked at each other. 

“I won’t tell her if you won’t,” Arthur said. 

Nimueh’s expression was shrewd. “Dishes. For a _month_. No complaints.”

“Alright.” Arthur nodded, wary. 

“Little pervert.” Nimueh smirked. 

Arthur’s answering grin surprised them both.

 

 **26.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Lancelot  
 **Warning(s):** outdoor sex, topping from the bottom

Being outside Camelot’s walls with Lancelot is true freedom. Merlin gathers Gaius’ supplies and shows Lancelot how he can make colours ripple through the leaves and create flocks of birds from dirt. Lancelot always watches with interest. His eyes are dark, gentle and draw Merlin in. 

He removes Lancelot’s chain mail with care, knows how precious it is to him. As Lancelot strips him quickly, Merlin presses his pale form against him and marvels at how the knight’s naked body seems so much more powerful than when it’s layered with armour.

Lancelot let’s himself get dragged down to the forest floor. Merlin kisses him hard, pushes his hands through Lancelot’s hair, rakes his fingernails down his back. Lancelot groans into Merlin’s mouth, arches into his touch, grinds their erections together when Merlin wraps his legs around Lancelot’s hips. Lancelot’s fingers probe inside him, stretch him open and Merlin gasps for more as he grips Lancelot tightly and ruts desperately against him. 

Lancelot pulls three fingers from inside him and Merlin surges forward. Lancelot ends up on his back and Merlin straddles his hips.

Merlin breathes hard. Lancelot’s hands slide down his body until one rests above his knee, the other takes Merlin’s clammy palm.

“ _Merlin-_ ”

Merlin nods, grasps the shaft of Lancelot’s cock and lowers himself onto it. Merlin moans, lets his eyes slide shut and his head roll back. He feels his erection against his stomach and aches for Lancelot to take it in his mouth. The thought makes him groan and shudder as he slides himself down, steadily takes Lancelot inside him and it hurts but _so good_.

“Lancelot,” he rocks his hips, feels the pulsing, twisting heat in his cock which makes him groan and arch his back. “ _Oh-_ please, _Lancelot_!”

A rhythm is quickly established. When Merlin moves down, Lancelot pushes his hips up, drives inside Merlin and his tight hot flesh. They’re far enough from Camelot for Merlin to cry Lancelot’s name, moan loudly and writhe as he rides his cock. When his gaze flickers down, he sees Lancelot’s dark eyes watch him, wanting and adoring.

Lancelot thrusts deep inside him, hits something which makes Merlin arch and yell and curl his toes into the dry leaves of the forest floor. He lets his magic slip and it mimics the feeling of Lancelot’s tongue up and down his cock, his touch over his body, hot panting breath against his neck and even what Merlin knows to be the feeling of Lancelot’s tongue in his mouth.

When he reaches climax, Merlin throws his head back and a deep, low roar rips from his throat as so much pleasure crashes through him. His magic tears from him. The trees around him quake, thunder rumbles from the blue sky and he moans happily when he feels his magic ripple against his ejaculating cock.

He looks down and Lancelot is still. His eyes blaze with a golden fire. A gasp catches painfully in Merlin’s throat as his senses crash cold back into him. He claws back his magic and watches it vanish from Lancelot’s eyes, leaving them hazy and unfocused.

His whole body tingles. There’s the dull ache of Lancelot still inside him, the creeping trickle of warm cum down his thigh and his own over his stomach. 

“Lancelot?” Merlin reaches to press a hand against Lancelot’s cheek. The touch seems to focus Lancelot and he blinks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it would do that.”

“I’m okay,” Lancelot still sounds a little distant, but sits up and holds Merlin’s hand against his face.

Merlin swallows hard and asks; “did it hurt.” 

“No. But I wasn’t here anymore. I could see…” Lancelot frowns lightly, “it was like water. And I was part of it. In a way. It’s hard to explain.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” Merlin promises, reaches with his free hand to push back the hair stuck to Lancelot’s forehead. He eases himself free, slides his arms around Lancelot’s shoulders and leans forward to rest their foreheads together.

“It’s alright,” Lancelot tells him in a soft whisper, pulls Merlin’s body against his.

Lancelot kisses him, understanding and loving, and Merlin lets the control of his magic loosen. It envelopes them in a warm glow, caresses his skin as gently as Lancelot’s hands do. Merlin’s eyes slide shut and he smiles at the soft trace of Lancelot’s tongue against his lips and how protected yet powerful he feels within his knight’s embrace.

 

 **27.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Mordred  
 **Warnings** : Noncon, mind control

"Magic can feel so good, if you let it," Mordred said, sending out a small tendril of magic to envelope Arthur.

Arthur swayed for a moment, then blinked and stood straighter. "It's still outlawed in Camelot. I know you were raised a druid, but that doesn't mean you can use magic here."

"Of course, sire," Mordred responded, and he put more power into the spell, let it wash over Arthur and settle in his mind.

This time Arthur blinked, fought to keep his eyes open, but he was _so_ susceptible to magic. The magic that flowed in Arthur's blood, the magic that gave him life, wanted to be used.

"Come on, Arthur. Sit here, on my bed." Mordred motioned next to him, and Arthur gave him a blank stare as did as he was asked.

"Magic is-- magic is wrong," Arthur mumbled. 

Mordred caressed Arthur's cheek and briefly pressed their lips together. "Shh, no, no it isn't. Magic makes you feel good." 

Words would never get through to Arthur though, Mordred knew that. He had to make Arthur truly feel the magic. "Tell me what you like. What will give you the most pleasure?"

Arthur's mouth opened, closed, and opened again, like he was struggling not to say anything. Mordred ghosted his fingers across Arthur's collar. "It's all right. You can trust me."

He felt Arthur relax under his touch, and took a slight thrill when Arthur said, voice low and forced, "Suck... cock..."

"You want me to suck your cock?" Mordred could easily do that. He used his magic to undo the laces on Arthur's breeches, and already had Arthur's cock pulled out when Arthur shook his head.

"No... want to suck..."

Oh, that was even better. Mordred wondered how deep Arthur had buried that desire, and how much he had wanted to tell somebody. "Have you ever done it before?"

Arthur shook his head. "Couldn't. A prince doesn't..."

"But a king can do anything he wants." Mordred curled his fingers into Arthur's hair and pushed Arthur's head down, using his other hand to pull his own cock free. 

He didn't have to coax Arthur further. Now that the desire was out in the open, Arthur was more than eager to open his mouth and wrap his lips around Mordred's dick. Arthur was sloppy, obviously unpracticed, but he was the king of Camelot and Mordred reveled in the fact that nobody else had ever had the king like this.

"You're doing really well," Mordred said, pushing down on Arthur's skull and thrusting up a bit more, making Arthur choke just for a second. That didn't deter Arthur in the least; in fact, it seemed to spur him on. Arthur started moaning and grinding his hips against the bed to get some friction of his own.

It was getting harder to think beyond the pleasure, but Mordred managed to send his magic through Arthur's body again, all the sensations he was feeling reflected back on Arthur. 

Arthur stuttered, lost his rhythm, and pulled away, his face flushed red and his body writhing.

"No, keep going." Mordred pushed his cock against Arthur's lips. "Drink every last drop of me. You'll like it."

"Y-yes." Arthur opened his mouth again and Mordred thrust inside, this time keeping Arthur in place with a firmer grip. The gasps and moans Arthur made reverberated through him, and then when Arthur's tongue pressed harder against the tip Mordred let go completely, poured himself into Arthur.

Mordred collapsed onto his back and watched as Arthur began stroking himself. He sent out magic to speed the process, and soon Arthur was spilling into his own hands.

"You see? Magic isn't bad at all."

Arthur stared at him blankly.

"You can ask Em-- Merlin. You can ask Merlin next time, whether Camelot needs magic or not."

Arthur's expression cleared slightly, and he smiled. "Merlin. I like Merlin."

Yes, it would be easier for Emrys to influence Arthur. Mordred used a spell to clean them both, and then set Arthur to sleep. Arthur wouldn't remember the event, but he'd remember the feelings. And all Emrys had to do now was hint that magic could have a place in Camelot.

 

 **28.**  
 **Title:** Moans, Magic, Mothers  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur Pendragon  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Warnings:** Mention of past minor character death

His moans seemed unnaturally loud as rocked onto his toes with each thrust. Merlin flexed his spine, loving the scratch of Arthur’s zipper as he drove back onto Arthur’s cock, belt buckles jangling to the pounding rhythm Arthur rode him with. 

In the split-second between stepping inside and being shoved into the wall, Arthur ordering him to spell his hands to the wall, Merlin had muttered thanks for whatever Uther had done at dinner, to which Merlin was never invited. Arthur often came home angry, with a headache from grinding his teeth and biting his tongue, finding release in Merlin’s broken pleas encouraging Arthur to do as he liked.

But today was different; there was fury in how Arthur curled his fingers within Merlin, the rigidity to his body after he came, his grunts those of a man not pleasured but wracked and ruined trying to forget himself in the body of his lover. Merlin’s eye’s blazed, softening their floor-wards slump, Arthur pulling Merlin close and pillowing heads on discarded clothing.

“He’s, uh,” Arthur cleared his throat, staring resolutely at the ceiling, “getting married.” Arthur’s hand moved to Merlin’s hair, the gesture enough to stop Merlin’s surprised questions. 

“She was wearing,” a sob was harshly cut off, “my mother’s jewellery.”

Merlin grit his teeth as Arthur continued, heart breaking at the tremble in Arthur’s massive frame and _knowing_ there was nothing he could do; Uther was an insensitive bastard. 

And Merlin knew that this was the moment to tell Arthur of his research. He’d been waiting, ensuring that this gift was achievable, fearing wounding the little boy Arthur hid so deep inside any further.

Merlin had stumbled through his magical confession after three months of dating. Arthur winced whenever thinking back to that night; he’d never been more Uther’s son as he stormed from Merlin’s apartment, not returning for days. He’d be lying if he said his first thought wasn’t the wish to see his mother, even momentarily. But he’d figured wishes were for genies.  
Until now.

Merlin’s hands cradled Arthur’s face as he explained the spell which allowed for the spirit of a loved one to cross, very shortly, back into the mortal world just once.

*** ***

Arthur felt light-headed and nauseous as the ritual began, pacing as he reprimanded himself for getting hopeful; this likely wouldn’t work, he’d be more disappointed than eve-

There was no crack of lightening or frigid wind, just a chiming bell and a sweet scent pervading the room; Arthur had smelt that perfume once before, as a small boy, citrus scent reminding Arthur of the lemon cakes cook baked. He’d found the bottle atop his father’s dresser. He’d been terrified when Uther stormed in and snatched it away. He’d been unable to sit down that night and the next day, the bottle was gone. 

It smelt sweeter on his mother’s skin, clinging to the strands of radiant hair, tendrils brushing the delicate wings of her collarbones. She looked more fragile than his sole picture suggested, indescribably beautiful, and he was terrified to touch her, that she’d be nothing more than smokes and mirrors.

“Arthur,” Ygraine said voice soft, smiling as she reached for the little boy she didn’t live to hold, the man that stood before her. “My son.” Her blue eyes washed with tears as Arthur stumbled into her embrace, hands fisted in her golden dress, crushing his mother to him.

_His mother._

“Mother,” Arthur’s voice was nasal with tears, “I’m sorry, I’m so _sorry_.”

“I _killed_ you.”

Hot tears spilt down Merlin’s cheeks at Arthur’s wretched confession, gripping the crystal so tight he felt shards dig into his flesh.

“No.” Ygraine violently shook her head, pressing a kiss to his forehead, a mother’s benediction. 

“No, Arthur. It wasn’tt your fault. I’d give up my life for yours a thousand times over.”

“I love you,” Arthur’s voice trembled as he wept his words.

The bell chimed again, and Arthur’s heart seemed to stop. 

“No, no.” Arthur shouted, clutching at her, memorising all he could. “I need more time, so much to tell-” Childlike, he pressed his face into her neck, baptising the skin with tears.

“Shh,” Ygraine’s murmured, expression distraught. “Sweetheart. You are loved,” She smiled at Merlin, gesturing him closer, mouthing _‘thank you’_ , receiving a watery smile, “a mother needn’t know more. 

“I love you, Arthur.”

Between one heartbeat and the next, she was gone, and it was Merlin that kissed away his tears, Merlin’s arms that held him as he wept, Merlin’s mouth he kissed reverently.

 

 **29.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Magic(Merlin)  
 **Warning(s):** magic bondage, voyeurism, dub-con, light D/s, hint of somnophillia

Merlin looked down at the sleeping prince of Camelot. Arthur was sleeping like a baby, golden hair splayed about his pillow, legs curled up, a bit of drool slipping out his open mouth. Merlin smirked; the prat may be adorable in his sleep, but that didn’t mean he had any compunctions waking him up. Especially, when he could have so much _fun_ doing so.

With a flash of gold, the red covers on Arthur’s bed twisted and slid away from the prince’s body, making him shiver slightly. The sheets twined themselves softly around Arthur’s wrists, his ankles, slowly bringing his limbs away from his body, leaving him spread across the mattress. Merlin’s cock hardened at the sight of him laid out for the taking. 

Merlin sent out a small tendril of magic to stroke along Arthur’s bared chest. Arthur twitched in his sleep, but did not wake. Merlin would just have to try something a little harder then. The golden strand of magic moved downward, caressing and slipping along Arthur’s tanned skin. As it dipped into the soft sleep breeches, Arthur finally started to show signs of waking. He breathed in sharply, tried to shift his body, but the sheets held him still.

Merlin’s cock had finally reached its full hardness by the time Arthur’s eyes blinked open as he woke fully. His smirk widened as he watched Arthur look first at his wrists, bound in red and held fast even as he tugged at them. He reached down to cup himself through his trousers.

“Arthur.”

The soft whisper of his name was all it took for Arthur’s head to whip forward, eyes pinning Merlin with an incredulous stare. 

“Merlin! What the devil is going on here?!”

Merlin chuckled, his magic twirling around Arthur’s thighs and tightening.

“Just a bit of fun to start off the day, Sire. Don’t mind me. You just lie back,” a wave of magic suddenly swept over Arthur, pinning his shoulders where he had been trying to lift himself from the bed. “and take it.”

Arthur gave him another strongly worded bitchface that clearly said, ‘When I get out of this, there’ll be hell to pay _Merlin_ ’. Merlin just smirked at him and pulled out his cock, stroking the already leaking member lightly. 

“Now hush, Arthur. Some of us would like to get off sometime today.”

For a moment it looked like Arthur was going to start arguing or bitching or whatever. He’d even started to open his mouth, but with a hastily whispered spell, Arthur’s mouth snapped shut and wouldn’t open again, no matter how hard Arthur tried. Satisfied that Arthur wouldn’t be interrupting any time soon, Merlin set about continuing his previous molestation. 

Merlin’s eyes went golden again, magic swirling about him. Tentacles of gold reached out, stroking along Arthur’s body, twining around his legs and pulling them even further apart. One tendril slipped up the leg of Arthur’s breeches, curling itself around Arthur’s cock. Arthur could only throw back his head, and let the sensations flow over him, breath coming harshly through his nose.

Merlin’s hand was stroking harder now, wrist twisting ever so slightly as he reached the tip of his cock, then sliding back down. His eyes remained fixed on the growing flush that spread itself across Arthur’s neck and chest. With a bite to his lips, he pushed his magic between Arthur’s legs, sliding between his ass cheeks. Arthur let out a surprised grunt. His eyes popped open to stare at Merlin, practically daring him to do it. So Merlin did.

He thrust his magic into Arthur, reaching immediately for that spot that would make him quiver and shake with pleasure. Merlin panted, feeling the ghost sensations of being inside Arthur running along his cock. He moved forward, kneeling on the edge of the bed, stroking himself faster as he fuck Arthur with his magic. They were both breathing heavily by now, moans and grunts coming from both them.

Arthur’s eyes were pinched shut, his chest heaving as he rutted his hips into the air. Merlin could practically _taste_ his desperation to come. With one more whisper a trail of gold latched itself onto the clothed line of Arthur’s cock. It only took a few strokes before Arthur was keening and shuddering. A wet spot spread across the fabric of his breeches. The visual was too much for Merlin because the next second his head was thrown back and he was coming in long white stripes across Arthur’s thighs.

 

 **30.**  
 **Title:** Love  & Sex & Magic  
 **Warnings:** public sex  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur

Electricity. It filled the air and vibrated through the sweat slicked bodies of the masses in the club. Heated flesh pressed against flesh, gyrating, slaves to the music that beat through them as one. The electric current flowed through the mindless lust that lingered in each dancer, though one controlled his, Merlin.

Merlin trailed his fingertips over Arthur's strong arms, leaving behind pure, prickling electricity. The musical current that coursed through their veins was not alone within Merlin, for he had magic, and intended to use it tonight.

Arthur took in a deep breath and grabbed his lover, pulling him flush against him as he let out a low growl, reacting to their new game. Whispering want surrounded them as Merlin swayed his hips devilishly. Arthur competitive as ever, had a gleam in his eye as he rolled back against Merlin.

Merlin spun in Arthur’s firm hold till he could mimic the music's back and forth with his whole body. He ground his ass back against his lover and Arthur freely offered him what was his as he grabbed his hips and rolled with him, playing out each melody with their wanton bodies.

The club was full, pulsating with feverish young men and women all lost to the beat, and yet to Merlin, him and Arthur were the only ones in the room. He turned again catching Arthur’s heated stare with his own, as his eyes flashed a mischievous fleck of gold. Arthur bit his lip brutally as he watched Merlin take control of his magic and with it his willing body.

Merlin took Arthur's hand in a surprisingly tender gesture, raising it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his wrist. But as the colour drained from Arthur's cheeks momentarily he realised as always with Merlin nothing was as it seemed. He felt that kiss through him; he felt that kiss right on the crook of his thigh. As Merlin's eyes flashed once more pure unadulterated gold, Arthur knew his plan, and he just sat back and watched.

Merlin grinned and Arthur snapped him close and crashed their lips together in a heated kiss. Tongues thrashed and fought over the ever present beat. Merlin trailing his fingertips over Arthur's open palm made the once prince almost fall to his knees and worship Merlin as their kiss broke. Arthur bit Merlin's lip hard and as the fine trace of iron tainted their bruised lips Arthur whispered against them 'I love you'

Merlin pecked at his lips a few more times before he drew his lover's hand to his mouth and softly kissed his fingertip. Arthur all fell as he felt that kiss on his erect cock, trapped in tight jeans.

Merlin grinned wickedly as he ran Arthur's finger over his lips, watching as his prince's eyes dilated and his breathing became shallow. One more kiss had Arthur leaking in his jeans and rubbing against his boyfriend obscenely, alone in the moment, even surrounded by people swaying rhythmically to the hypnotic melody.

Arthur felt every pounding bass note through his body and then Merlin parted his lips and traced his finger with the tip of his tongue. Arthur moaned and shook. As Merlin enveloped his finger in his hot, wet mouth he felt it all around his dripping dick, thrusting his needy hips forward. Merlin chuckled around his finger and his cock throbbed achingly hard.

As Merlin hollowed his cheeks and began to suck harder, swirling his tongue around Arthur's thick digit, the strong man became weak and fell against his slighter lover, groaning into his neck and fisting his hair.

Merlin never let up, he traced every line and picked up his pace. Arthur was a sobbing mess in his arms, destroyed by lust, held together by love. Merlin held him tight as he swooped in for the kill. Flicking his tongue just right as he sucked down hard, never letting up. Arthur crumbled, shaking violently as he bit into Merlin's neck, coming hard and riding every wave of his crescendo proudly and flying free, knowing Merlin would anchor him down. He always would.

 

 **31.**  
No warnings provided

Balinor's magic did not frighten Hunith. While the rest of Camelot cowered in fear of the one who could control the dragons, she treated him no differently than she treated anybody else in the court. She was bold for a servant, daring to meet his eyes during feasts, smiling at him when they passed in the halls, even speaking a few words to him when Gaius sent her to the Dragonlord with an errand. He liked her smile. He liked the sound of her soft voice. He liked the way she hummed when she worked. 

One day, he touched her hand and she didn't pull away from him. He wrapped his larger paw around her dainty fingers and led her to a rarely used door, taking her away from the prying eyes and listening walls of the castle. 

In the fields and forests beyond the walls, he showed her that there was so much more to being a Dragonlord than summoning dragons. He whispered a spell and flowers grew beneath her feet, blooming in every indent her soles left in the earth. He murmured an incantation and she wore a crown made of living butterflies, a red and orange and gold ring around her softly shiny hair. When a cloud passed over the sun, casting a shadow on her beautiful face, he waved it away with a gesture of his fingers, and when she complained of the heat, he took her into the dark shadows of the forest and made her a bed of soft grass to rest on. 

He lay with her there, covering her welcoming body, kissing her delicate skin, winding his fingers through her hair as he pushed into her. She wrapped herself around him, burying her face in his neck when the pleasure overtook her, her entire frame shaking from the force of it. He was a big man—much bigger than his lovely girl—but he held her gently, touched her tenderly, kissed her lovingly. When they were both sated, he proved he could hunt, too, catching, cleaning, and cooking a rabbit to renew her energy. 

She showed him her magic, too. She let him rest his head on her lap and stroked his hair while she spoke of unknown things. He'd seen wizards and dragons and great wars and great death. He knew of the old religion and the terrible wonders it wrought. He knew of prophesy—prophesy that held devastating truths no man should be burdened with. But he never heard anything as wondrous as what she described. A home, where the two of them could be together with no fear or punishment. A family the two of them could raise, with love and devotion. She spoke of farming and she spoke of struggling and the reality of death, the truth of tears, but she told him about hope, too. 

“Show me your magic,” she whispered when he covered her body again. He did. He touched her with it. It surrounded them, a golden weaving of power and love and lust that kept them protected from the rest of the world. It sank into their skin, a fine mesh over their flesh and bone, binding them together in a way that words, that rings and vows, that ropes and chains, could not. When they kissed, their lips sparked from the power, and when he slid into her, the very air hummed, the earth shook beneath them, and his blood pulsed in time to her heartbeat. 

When he reached his pleasure, she shuddered with him, her face flushed and her skin literally glowing from the power they shared together. 

She smiled, satisfied and slow. “We're going to have a son.”

“How do you know?” 

“A woman knows.” 

Balinor gathered her in his arms and held her close to his chest, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. He tried to imagine this son of theirs, with Hunith's fine features and his darker coloring. Would he be a wizard? Would he be a Dragonlord? Would there be any dragons left in the kingdom when he came of age? For all his magic, Balinor couldn't see into the future, but he could see the perfect creature who slept so peacefully in his arms, and he knew her son would be likewise perfect. Whoever he was, whatever he did, he would be Hunith's boy. If he had a touch of her magic, he would be the most powerful man in the kingdom. 

 

 **32.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** a bit of dubcon (but not really)

“We were very surprised when we got your father’s letter. More than once did king Uther proclaim to never offer us alliance, and suddenly he’s sending his only son to lead the talks.”

“Times change. The northern tribes are gathering their forces and it would be easier to deal with them together than separately,” Arthur says.

He’s forcing himself to not flinch at every sudden movement of the foreign king. He’s been taught that magic is evil and nothing good can come of it and this man is one of the most powerful sorcerers of the land.

“You’re afraid of magic, aren’t you?”

“I was taught to be.” 

The king closes his eyes for a moment.

“You shouldn’t be,” he says eventually, just when the door to the room open and in walks a tall, raven-haired man. 

“Father,” the man greets the king. 

“I’d like to introduce you to my son, Merlin Emrys, the Prince of Ealdor and my only heir.”

Merlin turns towards him and smiles.

“And you must be Arthur. Heard so much about you,” Merlin says. 

King Balinor’s slightly exasperated sigh is a clear indication it’s not the first time Merlin forgot all about the formal decorum used in case of meeting foreign dignitaries.

“Before we begin our alliance discussions tomorrow, I’d like to show you that magic can be used for good of the people.”

~x~

“Where are you taking me?” Arthur asks, interrupting Merlin’s chatter about his desire to visit Camelot.

“To my chambers.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

~x~

They enter Merlin’s rooms and he waves his hand, shutting the door behind them.

“I could show you our kitchens or stables where most of the hard physical labour is now done by magic, but it probably wouldn’t have that much of an effect. I think you should get to feel the magic.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Arthur says, taking a careful step back. 

“Oh, come on, Arthur. It’s going to be fun. Let me just…”

His eyes glow gold and a chair shifts across the floor, stopping right behind Arthur, a well aimed push making him lose his balance and sit down.

He’s about to stand up again when he feels it. A gentle caress over his lower belly.

“What?” he yelps, looking up at Merlin who is smirking at him.

“Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

He’s moving closer and it’s like Arthur is seeing him for the first time, the confidence and power surrounding him, and Arthur melts into the chair, feeling his cock stir in his trousers as he watches the almost predatory expression on Merlin’s face.

“You can say no any time and I’ll stop,” Merlin says.

Looming over Arthur, he places his hand above Arthur’s groin, not touching, just close enough for the heat to seep through the fabric. Phantom touches are roaming all over Arthur’s torso, driving him insane with random flicks over his nipples.

Arthur looks Merlin in the eyes, the slightly disconcerting mix of blue and swirling gold. Merlin’s smile widens and he lays his hand over Arthur’s throbbing cock. 

Pleasure bursts through Arthur and he trashes in the chair, tendrils of magic wrapping around his limbs and immobilizing him.

“Good?” Merlin asks, breathless and flushed, but still incredibly attractive.

Arthur bucks his hips up to make his opinion known, moaning loudly only seconds later when Merlin’s magic presses insistently against something in his body that feels unbearably good. 

Pressing his lips against Arthur’s, Merlin snaps his fingers and Arthur cries out, orgasm overtaking him. Merlin’s magic is everywhere all at once, prolonging the sensation, his cock spurting more cum that it ever did in one go. 

He slumps back into the chair when the urgent pleasure ebbs away, leaving him in a sweet fog of fading bliss.

He barely registers the splash of hot come landing on his chest.

~x~

“I’m glad to hear your stance towards magic is no longer so negative,” Balinor says.

“Your son presented some very strong arguments. In fact, I think I’ll visit again soon. There’s still so much to learn about magic.”

Merlin has to feign a cough to hide his snort of laughter.

 

 **33.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Depicts a physically-inflected fascination that starts when Arthur's a young child, but doesn't become sexual until later. Ageplay between consenting adults

When Arthur was six years old, he fell in love with a character in a book. The book in question was The Once and Future King, and the character in question was, rather unusually, the eccentric old magician, Merlin. His mother pronounced his love adorable. His father did not pronounce it anything, only squinted at him and frowned.

But Arthur loved Merlin with unabashed passion, especially his strangeness and mystery, and he made his mother read him that book as often as she would allow.

There was a particular passage when Merlin and Wart were discussing good and evil, and Merlin became inexplicably sad.

_He thrust the end of his beard into his mouth, stared tragically into the fire, and began to munch it fiercely._

Arthur always buried his face in Mum’s shoulder at that part. Poor old Merlin, munching his beard, with no one to hug him and tell him not to be lonely.

“Don’t suck your thumb, love,” his mother said.

*

The Once and Future King continued to be his favorite book. He wasn’t a very good reader, but he didn’t need to be for this book. He already knew these words.

*

When Arthur was sixteen years old, he discovered his arse. He knew he had one, of course, but he never thought he’d like it touched until he tumbled down an internet rabbit hole and found a new style of porn. That night he fisted his prick and used his other hand to squeeze his arse cheek. His fingers didn’t make it all the way back there, ‘cause his face was hot just thinking of it, but he clenched and released his hole a bunch of times, and that was good too.

Eventually he turned onto his belly and lifted his arse into the air. He imagined that the old magician knelt behind him and put a finger in there and his long beard tickled Arthur’s spine. When he came, his imaginary wizard whispered, “Dear boy,” and placed a whiskery kiss between his shoulders.

*

When he was twenty, he lost his virginity with a gorgeous, agile boy and decided he was going to stop fantasizing about an old man, for chrissakes.

*

When he was thirty, Arthur’s fiancee broke off their engagement.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “It’s just…you don’t seem like you…oh god, I don’t know. I just know I can’t keep doing this.”

He ended the day sloshed, propped up against the bookshelf, rereading his battered copy of T.H. White.

_I will tell you something else, King, which may be a surprise for you. It will not happen for hundreds of years, but both of us are to come back._

It seemed like a day for perverted indulgences, so Arthur pushed his trousers down his hips and wanked over an illustration of a white-bearded man.

*

On Arthur’s thirty third birthday, a handsome, dark-haired young man with desperate eyes showed up on his doorstep.

“Hello. Er. You don’t know me, exactly. My name is Merlin.”

Arthur slammed the door in his face. He knew he shouldn’t have confessed his Arthurian obsession to the likes of Gwaine.

*

Merlin wasn’t hired to humiliate him, it turned out. He took the door off the hinges with a blast that wasn’t…quite as shocking as it ought to have been, actually.

They spent several minutes glaring at each other over cups of tea.

“Listen,” Merlin said. “I know you don’t know me, but I have spent too many damn years looking for you—”

“I know,” Arthur said.

“I— what.”

“I know.” And he did, for some reason. Well, he didn’t know that Merlin had looked for him, but he knew that this Merlin was _his_ the Merlin. That his sudden nostalgic arousal was making him dizzy.

“Are you all right?” Merlin’s hand was on Arthur’s forehead.

“Could you grow a beard?” Arthur asked.

*

“You are beyond twisted,” Merlin said much later, and god, even his voice was perfect, a croaking wheeze. He didn’t sound too unhappy about it though.

“It’s your own fault,” Arthur said, lifting his arse into the air, his heart pounding.

“T.H. fucking White,” Merlin said, as he placed sun-spotted hands on Arthur’s arse and drove his cock in.

 

 **34.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):**

They had discharged him with little more than a pat on the back and a prescription for diazepam. The first three days he drifted between restless sleep and bone-tired consciousness. He couldn’t decide which was more exhausting.

***

On the fourth day he forced himself to get up. His sheets were damp with sweat and a bit gross; he tore them off and shoved it all into the washing machine, but had no energy to do the laundry, or pick up fresh ones.

The rest of the day he spent sitting on the bare mattress in total darkness, rubbing his wrists until the skin was raw and red and wondering where, exactly, had his life gone wrong.

***

The fifth day, there was someone at the door.

Loud, shrill tones of the doorbell reverberated inside his skull. That, if nothing else, was a good motivation to get up and answer.

“Merlin! Merlin? _Mer_ lin!”

Arthur’s voice – _Arthur_. What was _he_ doing here?

His voice was muffled and the doors shook when he hit it.

“Go away,” Merlin mumbled.

“Merlin! Are you there?” Arthur stopped beating down on the door as if they have personally offended him. 

“No.”

“Then where are you?”

“Dead,” Merlin said, humourlessly.

There was a beat of silence and then on the other side of the door Arthur was hitting them again.

“That wasn’t funny,” he said.

“Never meant it to be,” Merlin said; but he did let him in.

Three weeks and four days. That was how long they hadn’t seen each other (not that he kept a careful track, of course). Now, the moment Arthur saw Merlin, his expression fell from anger to shock. Merlin wondered what kind of image he presented – dirty, unshaven, exhausted, creeping out of the dark and empty flat like a heroin addict.

And Arthur was the picture of prim perfection. Like he always was.

“Um, hi,” Merlin said.

“Hi.”

He stood, awkwardly, while Arthur turned on the lights and opened the windows to let in some fresh air.

“You weren’t picking up,” he said.

“They confiscated my phone,” Merlin said. It occurred to him, now, that perhaps he should be mad about it.

Arthur stared.

***

“You never contacted me,” Arthur said the next day. Merlin had bathed until his skin wrinkled and made a valiant attempt at shaving and making his flat somewhat more presentable. He still fought embarrassment at having being caught like this, and by _Arthur_ , of all people.

“I thought you were mad,” he said, curling his hands around the mug of hot tea. Light glinted on the narrow silver bracelets trapping his wrists. “You know. About the magic thing.”

“I was. I am,” Arthur said

***

Seventh day was indecently hot and sunny, and so Arthur dragged Merlin outside. The light and noise nearly drove him up the wall – there was suddenly too much going on and, in the most horrible way possible, not _enough_ going on. 

His magic was—gone. There was nothing. He looked at trees and people and buildings and felt _nothing_.

The only thing he did feel was Arthur’s hand seizing his, and the warmth seeping into his skin.

***

“You know,” Merlin said. “You are really kind of wonderful.”

He looked away, embarrassed. Arthur took him out to the park – rainy day, so it was moderately deserted – and bought them both coffee and sandwiches for lunch. There wasn’t much they could talk about and Merlin’s statement caught them both unawares.

Arthur cleared his throat and did not meet Merlin’s gaze.

“Thanks.”

***

Arthur’s hands looked big around Merlin’s wrists and his palms covered the magic-cancelling bracelets. His lips fitted against Merlin’s like they were made for that very purpose.

Merlin had fantasised about this moment more times than he cared to admit; and now Arthur held him in his arms, trailing kisses over the nape of Merlin’s neck, over his naked shoulders, his chest brushing Merlin’s back with every hitching breath he took. His hands caressed Merlin’s chest and slid down to rest on his hips, digging his nails into Merlin’s skin with a desperation Merlin did not expect.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat when Arthur’s hands drifted lower. He closed his eyes, tried to keep himself from whimpering; Arthur pulled him fully into his lap, his own erection grinding against Merlin’s arse, his hand speeding up on Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s head rolled, settling onto Arthur’s shoulder, and he pressed a messy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Arthur’s jaw.

He came with a soft gasp, spilling onto Arthur’s hand. His toes were curled with the raw, unexpected pleasure of it, the tension in his muscles fading for the first time in days. 

***

Next time they were in bed together, Merlin still felt the lingering, bitter taste of Arthur’s come.

“You know,” Arthur confessed. “I never realised how much I needed you until you started falling apart on me.”

Merlin could afford to smile now. Laugh, even. He was still achingly empty inside, but he was getting used to the feeling. 

“Oh, so this is just you being selfish,” he said, teasingly.

“Yeah, essentially,” Arthur smiled. 

His magic was gone. But them—maybe they would be okay.

 

 **35.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None

Morgana doesn't even look surprised when Gwen draws the curtains and slips into bed with her, doesn't ask how Gwen made it past all the other Slytherins in the common room without anyone realizing that she was very far from her own House. All Morgana does is shift to make room for Gwen. "How was Hogsmeade?"

"Butterbeer is amazing," Gwen declares, careful with her enunciation.

Morgana turns Gwen's face toward the lamplight. "Are you _drunk_ on it? Just how many did you have?"

"Three," Gwen says proudly. Morgana just laughs. The butterbeer's warm in Gwen's veins and makes her frown. She wants to argue with Morgana that it isn't funny, but she settles for pressing against Morgana's side and distracting her with a kiss.

Morgan hums against her mouth, and the laughter fades to the sounds of their shared breathing. Gwen presses her advantage, asks, "What have you been up to, then, while the rest of us went to town?"

That Morgana was up to _something_ goes without saying. The Sorting Hat chose well for Morgana. She's Slytherin through and through, always scheming, always looking sly and pleased with herself.

She's that way now as she smiles up at the canopy. "I was practicing spells."

"Not anything you learned in class." That question, too, is hardly even worth asking. Gwen's never known Morgana when she hasn't been digging through the annals of the Hogwarts library for obscure, forgotten spells and teaching them to herself.

Morgana's grin is confirmation enough. She flips over, half sprawled across Gwen. Her loose hair falls down like a veil. Gwen wants to run her fingers through it. "Want to see?"

Gwen narrows her eyes. The butterbeer makes her suspicious. "Am I going to enjoy the show?"

"Undoubtedly. It's a variation on fiendfyre--"

"Merlin's beard!" Gwen yelps and scrambles upright. "Are you _trying_ to burn the castle down?"

Morgana shushes her quickly. "Someone's going to hear, and you'll get kicked back to your own bed." She's got her wand in her hand. There are a good number of students at Hogwarts who'd laugh themselves sick at the knowledge that she sleeps with it. People already whisper that the only thing Morgana Pendragon loves more than herself is magic.

Gwen knows that isn't true, but she bites her tongue when the others joke. They'd never understand.

"Do you trust me?"

There isn't another student in Hufflepuff who would call a Slytherin trustworthy, but Gwen doesn't hesitate, she just nods.

Morgana's eyes glitter. She gives a flick of her wand and whispers, " _Friendfyre_." Flame jumps off the tip of her wand, straight at Gwen.

Gwen wants to scream, it's instinct. But when the fire lands, it's only warm, and it seems well within Morgana's control. Gwen shivers beneath its intangible weight. It streaks tendrils across her skin, and everywhere the flames touch Gwen's skin tingles and heats.

"Oh--" Gwen gasps. The spell feels like the butterbeer does, sliding slick and languid through her veins. It makes her burn, makes her want. When she reaches for Morgana, Morgana comes easily -- but then she holds herself back, her eyes glittering and her hand outstretched as she directs the fire.

Tendrils of it curl up to lick over Gwen's breasts. Another thick rope of flame wriggles down between her thighs. She rocks down against the heat that bursts through her, biting back a sudden groan. "Morgana... Morgana, _please..._ "

Morgana smiles down at her, burning bright with satisfaction. She guides Gwen's head around with one hand spread across her cheek and kisses her, slow and languid. Gwen shudders as the fire spreads through her and bites at Morgana's lips, hoping to urge her into something more.

"You feel it, don't you? The power." Morgana's lips skim along Gwen's cheek to brush her air. "You're going to come just like this, aren't you? When I haven't even touched you."

"Yes," Gwen gasps. Morgana's grin is fierce and brilliant, like she's won something. She whispers another word and the heat bursts into an explosion that rocks through Gwen and leaves her shuddering, shaken.

"You're mine, aren't you?"

Gwen nods helplessly. She's not sure whether Morgana's talking about her or the spell. She's not sure it matters. Hufflepuffs are supposed to be fair and just, and Gwen's always been proud of her house. But for once, Gwen's found something she wants to keep for herself.

She's not sure whether she means Morgana or the spell, either. But this time, she _knows_ it doesn't matter.

 

 **36.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con, magical tentacle sex, bondage/imprisonment, implied mind control

The manacles bit tightly into Gwen’s wrists, holding her up, but not so tightly that her feet couldn’t rest comfortably on the floor. She had been here for hours—long enough for her whole body to ache, short enough to allow her to keep track of time.

The door opened. Morgana walked in and pressed a kiss to Gwen’s lips; she turned her face away. Morgana ignored the slight. “How I’ve missed you,” she said. “You must have missed me. All that time in the castle with no one to talk to?”

Gwen lifted her chin. “I have Arthur. And Merlin and Gaius.” Her voice came out scratchy and hoarse.

Morgana gave her a pitying look. “I mean someone to really talk to. Come, Gwen, we’ve never kept secrets from each other before. Why start now?”

“I haven’t trusted you ever since you tried to take Camelot’s throne for your own,” Gwen said.

Morgana’s face hardened. She walked a slow circle around Gwen, studying her. “Uther has never been kind to you. Why do you defend him?”

Gwen’s eyes blazed. “And where did my kindness to you land me? In a dungeon, chained and kept prisoner.”

Morgana sighed. “You were never my enemy. I thought you were the only friend I had.” She walked over to Gwen, trailing a finger down her cheek. “We had something special, Gwen. Don’t let us forget that.”

The manacles disappeared in a flash of light. Gwen’s legs, unused to supporting her full weight for so long, wobbled. Morgana caught her in her strong arms before she fell, and set her carefully on the floor. “My dear Gwen,” she said, her lips brushing teasingly against Gwen’s ear, “let us not be enemies anymore.”

Gwen, limp in Morgana’s arms, let herself be kissed. Morgana kissed the same as ever: with softness tempered by desire. Gwen closed her eyes briefly, savouring the long-forgotten memory of Morgana’s lips against hers. She allowed herself this small moment, safe in Morgana’s arms.

Morgana tightened her embrace, placing soft kisses along Gwen’s collarbone. “Perhaps I can convince you that we can still be friends,” she said. Using her fingers, Morgana undid the laces of Gwen’s bodice, loosening and freeing her breasts to the chilly air. Gwen’s nipples were peaked, but not just from the cold.

“Let me warm you up.” Morgana blew a warm breath over Gwen’s nipples, causing them to pebble tightly.

Gwen gasped as a tendril of magic, glowing gold, came from Morgana’s fingertips and circled around her breast, caressing its barest edge. Morgana’s tongue followed, the wetness leaving Gwen shivering with desire.

“I’ve learned a thing or two with my magic,” Morgana said. “Magic’s not all bad. Too bad Uther would never understand the pleasures it can bring you. But you, Gwen, you know better. You’ve always had an open mind and a caring heart. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, my lady,” Gwen said, gasping.

Morgana laughed. “You always were so eager for me. If we are being honest with each other, I must tell you that I learned them all for you. I practised on myself, knowing one day you would be with me again.”

Gwen stifled a moan. The image of Morgana using her magic to pleasure herself while thinking of her sent jolts of wet heat pooling between Gwen’s legs. The tendrils crept slowly upward, seeking the warmth between her folds. Gwen spread her legs wider, aching for more.

“What the magic feels, I feel,” Morgana whispered against Gwen’s skin.

Gwen moaned as the magic entered her, the tendrils slicking themselves on her wetness before pushing in steadily, relentlessly. They were thick inside her at first, thrusting in sharply, then thinned along with Morgana’s magic to make her better feel the sensation. Gwen cried out as they curled inside her, exploring her depths. They hummed with magic, and Gwen tightened around them, urging them deeper. The tendrils grew voracious, spreading inside her, going deeper than Morgana’s fingers or tongue ever did. At last the tendrils pulsed, sending waves of magic into her. Gwen came, crying out, feeling the magic burst throughout her. She came again and again with each wave, not knowing where her orgasms stopped and Morgana’s magic began.

“My lady,” Gwen said softly, brokenly, when she could speak again. “I am yours.”

 

 **37.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None  
"Merlin, I know you wanted to do something special for my birthday, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind," said Arthur, taking in his surroundings.

"Um, this isn't me."

"What do you mean it isn't you? How else do you propose we ended up in medieval times in period clothes without magic?"

"I mean I can do magic, not time travel."

“Hmm well, we’d best figure out how to get home. As much fun as it would be to be a king, I was rather looking forward to pints with the lads tonight.”

As if in answer to his question, there was a poof of smoke and a woman materialized before them. She wore a ragged red dress and surveyed them with interest.

"As much as I look forward to your usual banter, I'm in the mood for a different kind of show tonight boys."

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Arthur.

"Think of me as your director. You've been in rehearsals for far too long and now it's time for the main event!" she ended with a flourish.

"What?" asked Merlin dumbly.

"Think of it this way boys, if you play you're roles, you'll get home just fine. If you don't," she smirked at them before disappearing in another cloud of smoke.

"Play our roles? What is this, time travel or a sodding tv programme?" Arthur yelled.

"Maybe it's both. But at least now we know how to get home," Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Arthur looked around at at the room properly for the first time and picked up on some rather suggestive details: the turned down bed, the gently crackling fire, and most prominently, a bedside table featuring a wash basin and a large vial of oil.

"You mean she wants us to..."

"Fuck? Yeah I reckon that's what she's after. Not much else we can do in a bedroom."

"Oh. Ok. How do we do this?"

"Generally you start with kissing," said Merlin before he gently pressed his lips to Arthur's. Merlin pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Just lie back and think of England, this will be over before you know it."

Arthur was just about to suggest that maybe they take their time and give their director a proper show when Merlin pounced on him, tackling him down onto the mattress and grinding against him in an obscene way.

"Mer-" the rest of his sentence turned into a deep moan as Merlin sucked on the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Merlin shifted higher so that he could nibble on Arthur's earlobe. Arthur bucked his hips against the sudden loss of friction and Merlin grinned wickedly at him.

"I'd say you're ready, let's get clothes off then shall we?"

It wasn't fair that Merlin had retained control over the English language, thought Arthur as Merlin stripped them both and reached for the bottle of oil.

"So who's going to bott-" the rest of his words died on his tongue as he watched Merlin reach behind himself and open his mouth in a little 'o' shape and shudder as he inserted a finger into himself.

Arthur couldn't look away as Merlin started fucking himself in earnest.

"Right, I think we're ready then," said Merlin as he poured the rest of the oil over Arthur's now painfully hard cock.

"You ready?"

"Yes," Arthur gasped and Merlin lowered himself onto Arthur in one smooth motion. Arthur barely managed not to jerk his hips before Merlin started riding him like it was his day job.

"Doesn't it hurt if you go fast like that?"

"Only at first," Merlin panted, "but I might have stretched myself a little magically too."

Arthur tried desperately to stay focused but all brain activity seemed to be ceasing in a rising wave of pleasure. "Wait, you mean you use your magic for sex?"

"Maybe. Sometimes. Frequently. Is that weird?"

"No, that's fucking hot!"

Merlin grinned at him and started thrusting with impossibly more vigour, adding an occasional roll of his hips.

"I hope that bloody witch is watching because we're just about at our climax." Arthur let out a long moan as his hips rose up off the bed. He somehow managed to keep stroking Merlin, and Merlin followed him over the edge with a series of curses.

"I must say, you performed a little differently than I thought you would." They turned in unison and saw the woman eyeing them with downright glee." That oil was meant for polishing. Armour." She looked pointedly at the pieces of plate mail spread out over the table. "However you did put on quite a show for me so," she snapped her fingers and they were back at Arthur's.

Arthur turned to look at Merlin. "You up for another go?"

Merlin turned and grinned at him, his eyes flashing gold as he winked.

 

 **38.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Some dubious out of control magic.  
“Come on Arthur, do I have to?” Merlin says, definitely _not_ whining as he dons his ridiculous robe (Pendragon Red). He really prefers blue and his normal every day clothes, but Arthur had told him under no circumstances was he allowed to wear that during the tournament.

Arthur answers bemusedly, “Of course you do. We’ve been over this. If Camelot’s own Court Sorcery doesn’t participate in the tourney, then why should anyone else?”

“Because they all want to suck up to you,” Merlin mutters hatefully, pulling his boots on. “And for the record,” he says so Arthur could hear, “I hate you.”

“You’ve said that.” Arthur’s lips twitches upward. 

“Prat.” Merlin retorts, throwing his ridiculous hat at Arthur, who (predictably) dodges and laughs.  
“Idiot.” Arthur says, almost fondly. Merlin glares. 

“Do I look presentable?” Merlin says instead, since he already knows he can’t get out of this. 

Arthur’s eyes rake up his body, and (no, Merlin does not flush) nods.

Not trusting himself to speak (not because he’s turned on or anything by Arthur blatantly checking him out), he nods too and lets himself be dragged out of the King’s bedchambers and onto the dreaded field. 

Damn Arthur and his stupid _face_. 

~*~

At the end of the day, Merlin has fought five sorcerers, amassed collection of bruises on his back and face from when the sorcerers managed to trip him (which isn’t really a hardship he thinks, grumpily, wincing), and won. 

He barely pays any attention to the closing speech that Arthur makes for the first day of the tournament (Merlin wrote the thing, so he can afford to roll his eyes at his King while ignoring him). Afterwards, he hurries away from the field, dodging the sorcerers who want to ask him about the magic he used today and villagers who want to wish him good luck.

He strips his stupid robe of dirt and the like before heading to Arthur’s chambers to complain. Arthur managed to get back without being accosted, and _really_ , that’s distinctly unfair. 

Merlin throws the heavy doors open and gets as far as opening his mouth before Arthur’s mouth is on his. Merlin whimpers and kisses back, and it’s a terrible kiss; their teeth are clacking together and the angle is weird, but it’s brilliant _especially_ with Arthur grinding his hips into Merlin’s, whose cock instantly takes an interest in the proceedings.

Vaguely remember that the doors are still open, Merlin waves his hand at it and it shuts with a resounding clang. Arthur groans, pushing Merlin backwards until his back hits the door (Merlin definitely doesn’t hiss when his bruises are banged). 

“Love it when you do that.” Arthur pants, kissing down Merlin’s jaw and collar. 

“Magic?” Merlin says stupidly and wonders when on _Earth_ Arthur got that kink without Merlin noticing. 

“Yeah,” Arthur says while pushing Merlin’s pants down, down, down and palming at his erection.

“Oh fu-uck,” Merlin chokes, back arching. His hands mindlessly scrabble around and eventually find purchase in Arthur’s hair in front of his stomach. 

Blearily he looks down, and realizes that magic, _his_ magic, had without his knowing, pushed Arthur to his knees. And Arthur loves it. 

Arthur fondles Merlin’s balls and licks all the way up Merlin’s cock before sucking in the head. Merlin shouts in surprise and bucks, throwing his head back with a thud. His hands compulsively stroke Arthur’s hair as Arthur takes him deeper, until— _god_ —Merlin hits the back of Arthur throat. He tries to hold himself still, but Arthur moans around his cock and sends Merlin out of his _mind_.

“Arthur,” he all but begs, and his magic responds. It holds Arthur in place and lets Merlin fuck his delicious mouth, and by the looks of Arthur’s wrecked gaze, Arthur doesn’t mind in the slightest. It’s hot and stifling and amazing, and Merlin can’t hold back his moans as the pleasure shoots up his spine. 

Suddenly Arthur shudders, and slumps as far as he can with Merlin’s magic holding him up.  
“Oh god, did you just come just from that?” Merlin rasps, already knowing the answer. 

It only takes Arthur's dazed look and slow nod for Merlin to tip over the edge and come straight down Arthur’s throat. Dimly, Merlin feels his magic release Arthur as Merlin slides down the door, his legs unable to support him. 

“No wonder you want me in the tourney,” he says finally, wrapped up in Arthur on the floor. Arthur’s rumbling laugh is all the answer he needs. 

 

 **39.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/(Arthur)  
 **Warning(s):** Underage fantasy (no ages actually specified, but Merlin is 15, Arthur is 25)

His mother says he’s used magic his whole life, but Merlin doesn’t remember anything earlier than an incident when he was four, when he made vegetables dance across the table. He remembers being delighted by their movement, laughing and clapping while his mother tried to corral them back into the basket.

*

He had always used his magic in small, secret ways, but his mother pleaded with him to keep it hidden. Being the only magic user in their tiny village was bound to cause conflict. Merlin was already picked on for his large ears and his easy smiles, so he agreed.

*

When Merlin’s magic starts to act on its own, Hunith begins to worry.

When he makes the rains come during a dry spring, Hunith writes to Gaius.

*

Merlin has only just settled in to his room in Gaius’s chambers when a man rushes in demanding to know where Gaius is.

“A bit rude, aren’t you? He’s just gone to fetch something.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me, who are you?”

Merlin feels his cheeks heat up, but he doesn’t answer.

“When you see Gaius, tell him that Prince Arthur came to see him.” He pauses on his way to the door. “And learn some respect, boy.”

*

In between gathering herbs and running errands and magic lessons, Arthur calls on him for stupid things like fetching his laundry and being the target during practice with the knights. It’s irksome, so while serving at a feast he uses his magic to spill Arthur’s wine down his shirt.

*

Merlin rarely has any time to himself, so when he finds himself alone with no pressing responsibilities he has a leisurely wank. He runs his palms up his thighs, over his stomach and chest, bumps rising on his skin. He grips his prick in a tight fist. It’s dry, but he likes it that way to start.

He finds the vial of oil hidden underneath his pillow and gets his hands slick. His right hand goes back to his prick, the oil making each pass of his hand feel even better.

He’s wanted to try fingers before, but without the comforts of oil and time it hardly seemed worth it. He rubs the tip of his middle finger across his entrance, shivering at the contact. He just holds his cock for a moment while he tries to relax. He rubs the tip of his finger in circles, the shivers building until he gives a full-body shake. He presses in, barely the tip, but it feels like an accomplishment. He moves his fingertip in and out, tiny movements that feel like his whole world is shifting. He rubs another finger against his hole, the muscle gives and then he has two fingers _in himself_ , and he squeezes his prick to stave off coming at the realization.

He builds up a rhythm and it’s so good – better than he’s ever felt – but it’s not enough. He pushes in deeper, but no matter how he twists himself he can’t quite reach. He imagines what it would be like to have longer fingers, thicker fingers. Like Arthur. _Oh, fuck._

He can feel Arthur’s fingers now – the soft skin, the strength in them whenever Arthur grabs him by the scruff of the neck, bossing him around.

Merlin turns his face into the pillow on a gasp. He shoves his fingers in harder and they feel deeper, like they’ve actually grown longer. It takes him a second to realize that his magic is actually making his fingers into _Arthur’s fingers_.

He imagines what it would be like if Arthur was really there – Merlin wanking himself, Arthur thrusting his fingers into Merlin’s ass. He imagines Arthur being almost selfish, using Merlin for his own pleasure, demanding and just this side of rough.

Merlin’s sweating all over just thinking about touching Arthur’s naked skin, _god_ maybe even kissing him.

He finds that bundle of nerves and presses once. It sends a thrill through his body, amplified by his magic. He presses again, harder, and the sensation is overwhelming.

He pictures Arthur’s indignant face if he ever found out that Merlin was not only thinking of him while wanking, but magically using Arthur’s own hand. He laughs and comes, spurting over his stomach.

He lies there for a moment, coming down. Eventually he reins his magic in, fingers becoming his own again. He magicks away his release and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 

 **40.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

Arthur gets inappropriate boners from Merlin doing magic.

 

Arthur finding out about Merlin's magic comes down, in the end, to nothing more involved than a poorly-locked door and Arthur's habit of striding into any room as if he owns it (which, technically, he does.)

There are not a lot of other explanations for the lazy manner in which Merlin is directing things around his small space, clearly tidying up and making a bit of a show of it. They all drop guiltily to the floor when he sees Arthur, but Arthur still catches the shine of Merlin's eyes and his outstretched fingers. 

Arthur crosses his arms and waits.

“I can explain...” Merlin stammers.

*

Merlin's explanation is, unfortunately, quite reasonable. Arthur honestly can't tell how he'd have reacted to the news while his father was still on the throne, torn between his duty as a son and prince and the unquestionable loyalty and bravery Merlin has shown. 

As it is, he clips Merlin around the head, then pulls him into a rough hug, muttering an almost inaudible “thank you” into his neck. Merlin flails around for a moment, clearly caught off-guard, but then returns the embrace with enthusiasm.

And that's that.

*

Except it's not, because Merlin now uses his magic freely around Arthur; for everything from cleaning his boots to deflecting arrows that are aimed at his heart. He's astonishingly competent with it, a word Arthur never thought he'd use to describe Merlin. 

Of course, he still trips over his own feet and once he heated Arthur's bath water a little _too_ thoroughly, but Arthur thinks he wouldn't give up those parts of Merlin even if he could. The reminders that he's still _Merlin_ , hopelessly clumsy and distressingly endearing.

The thought leaves him a little unsettled.

*

And then there's the other problem.

It didn't happen the first time, because Arthur was a little preoccupied with the discovery of his heretofore incompetent manservant's hidden talents, but it definitely happened the second time.

Seeing Merlin with his palm outstretched, eyes glowing, lighting the fire in Arthur's chambers with just a whisper...

It's something about all that carefully-contained and effortlessly-controlled power, Arthur suspects. That's how he rationalises it, at least, how much watching Merlin perform that simple task turns him on.

He's thankful that he's seated, and he barks at Merlin to get out, which Merlin does with an offended look. Arthur is left alone with his thoughts, a thoroughly inappropriate erection, and a creeping feeling of doom.

*

It doesn't stop. 

It doesn't happen every time, because it's Arthur doesn't tend to get aroused when he's running for his life, or in the middle of a fight.

But those times inevitably lead to Arthur in his bed that night, or on his bedroll in some camp, turning over the sight of Merlin defeating men of twice his strength, of his slender fingers brimming with power, his already stunning eyes turned gold.

Which inevitably leads to him stroking himself off, desperately fast, biting his lip around Merlin's name when he comes.

*

They can't carry on like this forever.

*

Arthur should have realised Merlin would take matters into his own hands. 

He's been extra-busy today, polishing Arthur's armour to a shine, cleaning his chambers, even replenishing his plate when Arthur complained about still being hungry. All done magically, of course, which does nothing for Arthur's mood.

Finally he snaps at Merlin to stop it, when Merlin conjures up some fresh fruit for him, rounding on Merlin and glaring, hands on his hips.

Merlin's eyes slide down his body to wear his breeches are unmistakeably bulging, and a half-exasperated, half-pleased expression crosses his face.

“I _knew_ it,” he says, and then he's across the room and kissing Arthur breathless.

It takes Arthur a moment to catch up, unsure of what exactly is happening, but he wants it to continue more than anything, so he kisses Merlin back as thoroughly as he knows how. 

It's not until Merlin's on his back, heels digging into Arthur's back and urging him deeper, that he speaks again.

“Knew it turned you on, why couldn't you just - ”

Arthur kisses him quiet, slowing down and circling his hips until Merlin's panting into his mouth.

“Come on, Arthur, please,” he stutters, reaching down to work his cock in his fist. And then he looks up, straight into Arthur's eyes and whispers something in a language Arthur doesn't understand. But he feels the crackle in the air and sees the shift of Merlin's eyes, and that's it.

Arthur comes.

*

“Merlin, you know it's not just the magic thing, I - ”

“I know.”

 

 **41.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

Merlin had started it. 

Arthur was minding his own business, sitting in a council meeting listening to Leon go on and on about grain distribution  
(God, that man loved his number crunching, it was scary sometimes) when he had felt a rather odd sensation in his trousers.

It felt like a feather, stroking ever-so-softly over his balls. Arthur tried to ignore it at first, but the stroking sensation intensified, and Arthur felt himself getting hard.

He was going to _kill_ Merlin. But first he was going to take it out on his skinny little ass.

Thinking about Merlin’s skinny little ass, draped over the table they ate lunch at while Arthur pounded into him, didn’t help with Arthur’s inconvenient erection.

He shifted in his chair, feeling his face heat up, as Leon interrupted his discourse on the best practices for warehousing and rotating grain to ask, “Are you quite well, Sire? You look rather flushed.”

“I’m fine, Leon, please continue,” Arthur said, trying hard not to squirm as the unseen feather traced around the head of his penis.

The ever helpful George sprang from his position behind Arthur’s chair to open a window. George was an excellent manservant. Much better than that big-eared, insolent, over-sexed sorcerer who shared his bed…

The thought was interrupted by a bitten- off cry as the tip of the feather tickled the slit of Arthur’s prick.

He made it through the rest of the meeting, but had to sit alone at the council table for fifteen minutes before it was safe to stand up.

 _All right then, Merlin,_ he thought. _It. Is. On._

***

Arthur thought his punishment for Merlin was inventive and appropriate.

As soon as he got back to his chambers he grabbed Merlin, manhandled him across his lap in the big chair by the fireplace, and spanked him until his arse was as red as a ripe strawberry.

Then he dragged Merlin over to the bed and fucked him until he screamed.

And he wouldn’t let Merlin wear pants for the rest of the night. Merlin looked adorable padding around the room in nothing but a tunic, and every time he bent over Arthur got a nice view of his sweetly blushing arsecheeks.

Arthur had to hide a smile every time Merlin winced when he sat down.

But maybe he didn’t hide his smiles quite well enough.

Merlin’s delayed his revenge for a full ten days, long enough for Arthur to let down his guard.

His mistake.

He was sparring with Gwaine, shouting instruction to the new and veteran knights who were watching, when he felt something teasing at his arsehole.

He was so surprised that lost track of what he was doing, and Gwaine knocked his sword out of his hand and tripped him so that he landed flat on his back on the ground.

Gwaine, who enjoyed his rare victories over Arthur in training more than was really seemly, planted his boot on Arthur’s solar plexus and pointed his sword at Arthur’s heart.

“Yield,” he ordered.

As he lay there pinned, the object that had been teasing at his hole slid in in one smooth motion. The object had been slicked up, so it didn’t hurt, but it startled Arthur. 

He couldn’t seem to make his mouth work as the object, which felt exactly like Merlin’s penis, started fucking him very hard and fast.

The other knights gathered in a circle around him, concerned that Arthur was turning bright red again and seemed unable to speak. Gwaine removed his boot and his sword, someone was shouting for water, and Lance knelt down next to Arthur’s head, saying, “Arthur? What’s wrong? Can you tell us where it hurts?”

The hard fucking of his ass continued, picking up speed. And then the object in his arse seemed to swell to twice its circumference.

Which is how it happened that with the eyes of all of his knights on him and Lance tenderly stroking his hair, Arthur dug his heels into the dirt, arched his back, and came.

***

He was able to pass it off as a momentary seizure caused by hitting his head, although he wasn’t sure everyone was buying it. Gwaine had a rather lecherous grin on his face, and when Leon solicitously offered him his arm back to the castle, Arthur could see that he was manfully trying to suppress a smirk.

Merlin was going to be sorry he was ever born. Arthur would make sure of it.

 

 **42.**  
 **Title:** Losing Control  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** Nothing

Really, Arthur thought the first time he fucked Merlin, how could he have ever missed the fact his manservant had magic? 

The air around Merlin glowed when he came, which would have been a clue if Arthur had not already known.

/\/\/\/\

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, one night, while he watched Merlin drag his feet tidying up at the end of the day. 

Arthur waited until the last moment, when Merlin was blowing out the candles by the door, before walking up behind him and pressing his chest to Merlin's back. The candle in front of them flared and then blew out. Arthur sighed into Merlin's neck and pretended he didn't see it. 

He laid his hand over the front of Merlin's pants. Merlin’s cock was still soft but Arthur fondled it to hardness. Merlin tried to turn but Arthur leaned into him until Merlin reached out for the wall and balance. Arthur kept going until Merlin panted and all of the other candles in the room flared until Arthur could see the flush of sweat on Merlin's skin. 

Arthur knew Merlin’s eyes were always closed when he came but he still worried. 

/\/\/\/\

Arthur was sure that Merlin had never had sex with anyone before him. If the way he was completely ignorant of his magical tell was any indication. Arthur was going to say something but each time was different. Sometimes there was nothing he could **see** that gave Merlin away but he could feel it. 

He had been hesitant to allow Merlin's hand to creep into his pants. They were on a hunting trip and even some way away from the rest of his men magic would be noticed. There was nothing to be seen though. 

Merlin's words were another matter. As he described, in vivid detail, exactly what he would like to do to the prince Arthur felt a press at his entrance. He leaned forward into Merlin's neck as he was breeched. The magical feeling reached further, touched things that Merlin's cock didn’t but it simply wasn't the same as the hard stretch of Merlin's cock inside of him. As Arthur thought it the magic inside of him and Merlin's hand brought him to a shuddering climax. He kept his eyes open through sheer force of will to watch as Merlin came. There was no outward sign of his magic for the first time since they had started this relationship. 

/\/\/\/\

Arthur had begun to suspect Merlin had magic somewhere between the fifth mysteriously falling branch and the fourth I've got a bad feeling. It was after Arthur had discovered friendship in the guise of servitude and something he refused to call love but would admit was nearer need than want. 

Then one day, by a fast moving river, Arthur realised that not only did he trust Merlin, he trusted his magic. The bandits ambushed them and Arthur turned his back on Merlin. He heard the crack of a branch breaking and smirked at the thug in front of him before he ran him through with a sword. 

That night, Arthur broke a number of his father’s rules. He harboured a magic user. He made an overture to one of his servants and he had lain with a man. He wasn't sure if the magic or man aspects would annoy his father more. 

Merlin had been enthusiastic when Arthur kissed him. The prince had pulled back and checked that Merlin didn't feel coerced but Merlin simply rolled his eyes at Arthur and lunged back to connect their lips. 

As Arthur slid into Merlin's slicked, wet entrance he felt something press into his skin like the soft wrap of a quality clothing. He knew it was Merlin's magic. The sensation increased until Merlin came and the very air seemed to glow. Arthur wondered if Merlin even realised that he did magic when he had sex.

The completely relaxed and unfearful look on Merlin's face when he finally opened his eyes and smiled goofily up at Arthur told him that Merlin had no idea. 

/\/\/\/\

The night after the ceremony to name Merlin as official sorcerer of the Court of Camelot, Arthur worked Merlin took his time showing Merlin that no title changed anything between them here. 

“You know you lose control of your magic when we’re in bed.” Arthur said as he started to push his cock into Merlin’s slick body. 

Merlin smirked and arched up into Arthur. “I know, it’s how I knew you loved me." 

 

 **43.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** magic bondage, rimming, light dom/sub dynamics

"Merlin—" he whispered, voice hoarse and with a hint of desperation.

"Shh," Merlin pushed Arthur’s breeches down and looked up at him. Arthur's hands flew to Merlin's hair, just resting there, not pulling, and Merlin’s attention quickly went back to Arthur's dick, taking it into his mouth and making Arthur's vision go blank. His head fell back against the bedpost, his back arching with Merlin's touch, and he barely held back the moan rushing past his lips when Merlin's hands surrounded his arse cheeks beneath his thigh, and swallowed Arthur's cock deep and slow, only to pull back instantly

"You're so wet for me, Arthur, so hard," Merlin husked.

"Shut up," Arthur replied in a breath, and Merlin rubbed his nose against Arthur's balls, gave it a quick lick, and pushed to his feet. Arthur opened his eyes and met his gaze, but before he could do much but blink, he was being shoved backwards and landing flat on his back on the mattress whilst Merlin tugged his breeches off and crawled atop him.

He opened Arthur's legs wide, letting him exposed, bent Arthur’s knees up and settled himself between them, sitting back on his heels and watching Arthur with _that_ look that made Arthur shiver everytime, intense and piercing.

"I'm not going to fuck you tonight,” Merlin told him, and Arthur almost choked on his own desperation. Almost— thought of _begging_. 

But then Merlin's hands were pressing Arthur's own against the mattress beside his head and Arthur couldn't move, couldn't do anything but grab the sheets into fists or press them flat and shaky against the bed. He reluctantly stopped fighting against the magic that held him in place and simply watched Merlin working on him. Watched Merlin bending down to kiss his balls whilst one of his hand worked on Arthur's cock, the other pinning Arthur down where it was pressed against his belly, and Arthur groaned when the tip of Merlin's tongue darted downwards and touched his hole, making his stomach flex, his muscles go taut. Arthur could feel the sweat forming on his nape.

"Merlin, I need, you have to—" Arthur’s voice was raw, and he wanted to move his hands, he wanted to reach down and haul Merlin up, kiss him, touch him, wanted Merlin inside of him, wanted—

"I have to what, Arthur? What do you want? Tell me," Merlin asked. Arthur knew what Merlin was doing, he was going to have to say it, beg for it, and Arthur most definitely did not beg to anyone for anything. 

"Fuck, Merlin. It's an order," Arthur said and Merlin only pushed his tongue inside him in revenge. "Fucking do it, now."

"You're not in the position to order me anything, don't you think?" Merlin pulled himself up, still pumping Arthur’s cock, but then he was suddenly on Arthur's face, his lips ghosting over his own and moving towards Arthur’s ear. 

"Say it," Merlin whispered. "Come on, Arthur, I want to hear you say it to me." Merlin’s lips brushed against Arthur’s earlobe. "It’s just us."

"Just set me free of the magic, I hate this."

"What? Not being in control, not being able to touch?" 

"Yes," Arthur grunted, his voice raising in annoyance. He tilted his head to the side to kiss Merlin's mouth but Merlin pulled away. "Merlin."

Merlin's strokes became faster, easing his thumb over the head and flicking his wrist, softening and tightening up the grip, changing the pace to give Arthur everything he wanted at once.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Merlin, please." He squeezed his eyes shut, heels digging against the mattress.

"Shh," Merlin said and now really kissed him on the lips. Arthur opened his mouth and pressed his tongue against Merlin's, bit his lips to show him all his frustration and Merlin pulled away just a moment, then touched Arthur's hands briefly with his fingertips so Arthur could move again. His hands flew to Merlin's arse within a second.

"God, I hate you," he said to Merlin's mouth, weak and untrue, grinding their groins together. "I hate you so much." 

"Come on, come for me," Merlin murmured to his lips and then kissed him again, and again, until Arthur’s mouth felt sore and numb and he was coming hard over Merlin's hand and his own belly.

Merlin rested his forehead against his own and dropped his hand from Arthur's cock just to wrap it around himself but Arthur drew his hand away and did it himself, bringing Merlin off just like Merlin had done with him.

When Merlin's elbow shaked and he buried his face on Arthur's neck, Arthur closed his eyes, holding Merlin's warm body right there above him and placing his hand on the hollow of Merlin's lower back as Merlin's seed painted his other hand, sticky and hot.

 

 **44.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, side Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** breaking and entering, voyeurism

Morgana doesn't usually hit residences; the payoff is pennies compared to the corporate jobs she takes.

This job is different.

“The panel's on your left,” Gwen says in her ear. The sound is clear, whatever bugs the tech had developed in the last heist exterminated after Gwen sifted through the code. “Under the painting. Give me a minute to disable the alarm.”

“Fucking ugly painting,” Morgana mutters, so low only her mic picks up her voice. Gwen hushes her anyway. 

“Got it. Give it a tug, and—yep. Pull that red wire out. That's the tricky bit done.”

“Easy for you to say,” Morgana says, just to hear Gwen laugh. 

“You could do half these jobs with one hand tied behind your back.”

“Magic's useless for tech; why else would I keep you around?”

“Of course.” Gwen sounds amused. “The only reason you haven't slit my throat yet.”

“You know it.”

“Move,” Gwen instructs. “You've two minutes before the alarms come back online; stay low.”

Morgana moves with a grace she knows is inhuman. So much of her is terribly, fallibly human, but not this—not the magic moving with her muscles, keeping her steps lighter, faster than any natural woman. It's the work of a few seconds to reach the door at the end of the hall; she's reaching for the handle when she hears something and stops dead.

“Morgana,” Gwen hisses at her. “The drives are—”

“Heard something.” There's the noise again—low, unmistakeable. “Someone's here.”

“The house is empty; he won't be back until—”

Morgana slips through the door before Gwen can finish, just another dark shadow in the corners, hidden by more than just the night.

“Oh,” Gwen says in her ear.

Morgana can see as well in the dark as she can at noon—all it takes is a quick shift of thought, and the scene is laid out in full, glorious color. The covers of the bed are kicked down, trailing off the bed onto the floor with the pillows, but neither of the men sharing the mattress look cold. 

“Fuuuck,” one of them says, strained—Morgana looks at him more closely, where he's arching up, his head and feet slipping a little on the fitted sheet, because he seems—

“Is that _Arthur Pendragon_?” Gwen asks, incredulous; Morgana nods, knowing Gwen's sensors will pick up the movement. Arthur bucks up again, and again, begging, and Morgana's never been happier to have Gwen's tech tucked around her body, recording every word. They're being handed blackmail on a silver platter.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps, “fuck—fuck me, Merlin, give it to me, please—”

Merlin is eagerly obliging, doing exactly as Arthur asks, their bodies moving smoothly together, the smell of sweat and sex spreading. They're gorgeous together, and Morgana's never been one for denying temptation. Perhaps she'll forgo blackmail and add the video to her personal collection.

“Morgana,” Gwen hisses. “Are you—seriously?”

“Relax,” Morgana murmurs as she slips her hand into her panties, curling her fingers against herself. “Fuck, that's hot.”

“We're _working_!”

“Break time,” Morgana says, enjoying the way Gwen splutters. “Wish I was with you. I'd touch you just like this, stretch you out and make you scream—”

Arthur groans, low and broken, but it doesn't hide the hitch in Gwen's breathing. “I swear, Morgana—”

Morgana doesn't listen. She releases her magic instead, reaching to brush an invisible touch over Gwen's skin, teasing at her breasts and the softness of her belly.

“Working!” Gwen squeaks, strangled, and Morgana laughs—a huff of air, inaudible beneath all Arthur's noise—but it's enough to give her away. 

Merlin freezes, ignoring Arthur's whine, whipping his head around, but Morgana's already moving. She'd noticed the drives on her first visual sweep of the room; she dives for them now, throwing up her shields when a bolt of golden magic nearly hits her.

“Apologies, boys,” she says, once the drives are safe in hand. She doesn't let her shields down. They haven't moved—Merlin's still balls-deep in Arthur's arse—but the magic she can feel Merlin gathering is powerful. “I'll leave you to it. Magnificent show.”

Merlin unleashes his magic, but she's already vanished, laughing fit to burst, Pendragon Corp.'s most important research projects under her arm. She and Gwen will celebrate tonight, long and loud until the sun comes up over the world, their oyster. 

 

 **45.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** NONE

She was alluring to his eye—cascading, long black hair rolling in waves down her back—the way she smiles like the world belongs to her. There is something magical in the simple, and yet, beautiful aspects of life. Locked away from the outside world, forced to succumb to a man who turned out to be your father, Morgana couldn’t be one-hundred percent to blame for the intense transformation.

Of course, she was.

Everything she did, she could have done differently.

Many say that destiny is something you can’t escape, the fates are cruel to those who are meant to do evil. The evil of succumbing to their darkest desires is what you can’t escape.

If she could have been shown how to control the magic, the power she holds in the palm of her hand instead of running scared. He should have held up his arms for her to embrace him, feel the warmth and goodness in his heart. Knowing that you are not alone, we all want to feel that we belong somewhere.

How could she hate?

The faith she saw exhibited by the man who later became known as her father—his fears and loathing are a vile poison, the catalyst of her self-destruction was the corrupting influences of a long-lost sister. Being stubborn and unable to compromise, it is her fatal flaw like her father’s unquenched revenge on magic users.

One more drop of serum into the vein.

A wave of nausea creeps over Merlin as the blood in his arm darkens, his eyes lull back in their sockets as another impulse wave of memory leaks into his frontal lobe. The woman standing before him—he was down on the ground at this time—was menacing with anger at this creature inhabiting his outer appearance. Fog appears all around him at this time, it wasn’t foggy that day from what he remembered.

From the fog, another voice echoed through his mind, a calming voice—the one who should soothe his spirit—it asked, “Are you there right now, Merlin?”

“Yes,” Merlin’s voice echoes in his head. It sounds weird looking back on this now.

“Where are you at in your memories?”

“Somewhere outside of my old friend’s abandoned house,” Merlin’s voice answers robotically, “it is right when she is about to destroy me.”

“And she doesn’t destroy you,” the voice asks, “it is all a dream. What do we say to dreams, Merlin?”

For what it is worth, the man must have been paid good money to diagnose his ailment. Merlin couldn’t even begin to explain the concept of magic to a psychologist without sounding like a loony tune. It is safer this way that he would only know this as a bad and very vivid dream he has every so often. A beautiful dark haired woman comes into his nightmares and acts like she is going to kill him. The closest diagnosis they could come up with is “femme fatale” desirous-atitis, or some such medical mumbo-jumbo. Gaius would have made sense of the stuff, he had the desire to be a doctor.

With a shake of the head, Merlin woke up from his heightened state and stares at the man before him—he looks an awful lot like his old friend, Leon—the smile on his face the same and everything. He brushed imaginary dust from his pants as he stood up and reached out his hand.

“Thanks again for the time, I’ll be on my way now.”

Before Leon’s doppelganger could respond, Merlin was gone again.

 

 **46.**  
 **Pairing(s):** reincarnated!Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** unprotected sex

When Morgana said he was meant to save the world, Arthur laughed—right up until it turned out she was serious.

Apparently it was his _destiny_ , except that he wouldn’t be able to do it without the help of some sorcerer who had put himself into a deep sleep. Which, naturally, had led to Arthur standing in a field with Morgana, listening to her recite some ancient spell.

The sorcerer showed up in not only a shower of sparks, but also a gust of wind, a swirl of fire, and the sound of the ocean roaring in the background. It was impressive enough, if not kind of totally overdramatic.

So while Morgana had been telling the truth, it still didn’t change the fact that—

“I am _not_ Arthur Pendragon!” he shouted.

“Yes, you are,” the sorcerer—Merlin, his name was Merlin—said, insistent. “I’d recognise you anywhere, not because of your face or your name. You have the same soul. I’ve been _waiting_.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Arthur retorted. “My name is Arthur de Bois, I don’t _know_ you, and we are _not_ having sex!”

It didn’t matter how attractive Merlin was, with his blue eyes that turned gold and his cheekbones and his slightly-too-large ears. Arthur was not going to sleep with someone he’d just met, and especially not someone who kept insisting that he was someone he most certainly wasn’t. 

*

Arthur watched the bright red bolt of colour head toward Merlin and acted without thinking, flinging himself in the way of it.

Merlin’s magic had a soft, gentle glow to it, whereas Nimueh’s had a vivid, cruel edge, and it felt even nastier when striking him in the chest. Arthur was thrown back, his head slamming into something solid and unyielding.

Suddenly, there were images pouring into his mind, almost too fast for him to see.

Then, darkness.

*

When Arthur came to, it was to the sight of both Merlin and Morgana hovering over him.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Morgana said, clearly trying to sound unaffected despite the look on her face telling him otherwise. “We brought you back to the safe house. While it was a stupid move, it gave us the advantage we needed to take care of Nimueh, though she won’t be the last.”

As Morgana spoke, Arthur’s gaze drifted to Merlin, who had yet to say a word; he was biting at his nails and frankly looked dreadful.

“You’re fine, though,” Morgana continued, “since both of us have magic, we managed to heal you right up.”

Merlin brought his fingers away from his mouth. “Morgana, do you think I could speak to Arthur alone?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Morgana had barely shut the door behind her when Merlin turned on Arthur.

“You _prat_!” he nearly hollered, and _oh_ , how Arthur had missed that. “You don’t have any magic! What were you _thinking_ , getting in the way of her attack? I mean hell, it was easier when you were getting knocked out thanks to your own stupidity.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, quietly, and Merlin immediately paused mid-rant.

“Yeah?”

“Merlin, I remember. I remember you, I remember _everything_.”

Merlin seemed to freeze in shock at the confession, and if Arthur wasn’t mistaken, there might have been tears welling up in his eyes. “You really are an ass,” he finally said, and Arthur held his arms out, unable to stop his smile as Merlin practically flung himself into them, and then they were kissing.

In no time at all, their clothes were being shed, and Merlin had his legs spread with three of Arthur’s fingers knuckle deep inside his arse. It must have burned, but Merlin made no complaints, only whispered a word, and suddenly Arthur’s fingers were coated in a smooth, sticky substance.

_Huh. Magical lube._

“Do it,” Merlin begged, “just do it, I’ve been waiting.”

Arthur could deny Merlin nothing, and his cock was quick to replace his fingers.

Their coupling was fast-paced; Arthur was mostly aware of the gloriously tight pressure around his cock and thrusting desperately, keening as he felt Merlin rocking downwards in return, his hands firm on Arthur’s shoulders with his head thrown back.

When they came, together, Merlin leaned down to kiss him, and Arthur could tell that he was sobbing. “I missed you so much,” he said.

“It’s fine, Merlin,” Arthur reassured him. “It’s fine, I’m here, I won’t leave you again.”

They clung to each other, unable and unwilling to let go.

 

 **47.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** slight bondage, orgasm denial

Arthur’s favourite thing about his newly surfaced magic was the multitude of ways in which he could fuck himself. 

In review of all the truly awe-inspiring things like shape-shifting, telekinesis and saving lives, this may have been a bit of a dick thing to say, but Arthur (like everyone) could be a bit of a dick. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the life-saving with Merlin and the other things which helped the world as a whole and kept things in order, but really, at the end of the day, he was only human. And like most people, he just wanted to kick back, relax, and stick his dick into something warm. 

It just so happened, though, that unlike those without magic , Arthur really didn’t need anyone but himself (in spite of what Merlin said, especially because they’d tried that once, and decided that platonic life partners would just have to do). 

Arthur had tried relationships with others, but as a bit of a superhero, he was busy, and relationships were complicated, so being the trouble-solver he was, Arthur found a solution.

The solution was spread out on the bed in front of him now, wrists tied to the bedposts, a spit-shiny red ball gag in his mouth. He strained against the restraints, all his power and might, but they wouldn’t budge, magically enhanced and all. 

Arthur would often just stand at the foot of the bed and admire the body before him, perfectly toned and sculpted by endless hours of working out. He loved every inch of it. 

Arthur knew that there was no other person in this world he could please more than himself, or who’d know him better than he knew himself, so his solution was just that – creating a version of himself to perfectly suit his needs. 

Tonight, other-Arthur was subservient; he wanted to please Arthur more than anything. He had already, magically waiting on his knees in the foyer for Arthur to get home then welcoming him with open arms and an open mouth, hot and wet around Arthur’s dick before Arthur even got his shoes off. 

He made Arthur come within minutes, without even using his hands but to undo his trousers. “To take the edge off,” he’d said with a cheeky grin before swiping his thumb at an errant drop of come trickling out the corner of his mouth. 

But Arthur hated surprises and ambushes, so he had to punish other-Arthur, and he was, right now, twisting the dial for the vibrating plug inside other-Arthur’s hole. He loved the way it made other-Arthur thrash and bite down around the gag, tears streaming down his temples, cock straining in the cock ring, hard and red and leaking. His whole body had a gorgeous flush to it, a beautiful sheen of sweat highlighting all the muscles and the hours he’d already spent just like this, on the very edge of orgasm, the threshold of pain and pleasure. 

For his own part, Arthur enjoyed this very much, he was hard, too, stroking himself idly before finally turning off the plug, tossing the dial and climbing on. He ran his hands up other-Arthur’s legs, knowing how much he loved it, practically feeling it himself, then teasing with the barest edge of nails on the inside of his thighs, loving the way other-Arthur moaned and had to strain not to kick out if he wanted to come tonight. 

But Arthur himself had waited long enough, so he pulled the plug out quickly, relishing the wet pop, before tossing it aside and sliding himself in between other-Arthur’s legs, then fucking into him right away. 

Other-Arthur trembled beneath him, crying through the gag while Arthur gripped his perfect hips and pounded into his perfect hole. Nothing ever felt as good as this, no other hole – pussy, arse, or mouth, ever felt as good as this. 

It was definitely narcissistic, but Arthur loved being able to watch his own reactions, how he looked when he fucked himself, how only he could make himself feel. It made him feel like god, and it’s what made him come, shoot his load into other-Arthur, fill him up completely. 

In the after-glow, he even indulged in a kiss around the gag, then he stroked other-Arthur a couple of times before finally letting him come. It splattered on his stomach, painting his muscles in white. Arthur loved rubbing it all in, marking himself in a way only magic made possible.


	3. Group C (Warnings)

**48.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Very slight dub-con, body dysphoria

Gwen awoke feeling very queer, sort of nauseous and a touch light-headed, but it was not until she lifted her blankets that she realised what was wrong.

Her nightdress had ridden up when she was asleep and down between her legs, where just yesterday had been a perfectly normal set of lady parts, was – well, a cock.

Gwen edged a hand down to touch it. It was solid and evidently real.

Now, she thought hazily, really was the point where it would be appropriate to panic, but she did not. She got out of bed, combed her hair, and dressed herself.

She had to adjust her new appendage thrice on her way to work. By the time she reached the Lady Morgana’s chambers she’d been reduced to an awkward shuffle so as not to dislodge it.

Morgana was up already, sitting at the table in her nightgown, frowning at the book she’d been reading the evening before when Gwen had blundered in on her practicing magic. She slammed it shut. “Gwen!”

“Good morning, My Lady.” Gwen bobbed the most awkward curtsy of her life. “What’s that book you’re reading?”

Morgana flushed scarlet. “It’s nothing. It’s a magic book. Merlin found it,” she said. “It’s very – interesting. Fetch my undergarments, won’t you?”

When she turned back from the cupboard, Morgana was just slipping her nightdress over her head, exposing all her beautiful, perfect skin, and as was often the case at this point in the morning Gwen got butterflies in her stomach.

What was less normal was a new and inexplicable cock deciding to show some interest. Gwen felt her face heat as it stirred under her skirts. _No_ , she willed it, _oh, no_.

“Gwen?” Morgana looked at her, standing stock-still, afraid to move. Then, horror of horrors, her eyes flicked to Gwen’s crotch. “Are you –”

“My Lady, I –” Gwen swallowed and glanced down. Her _condition_ was quite evident now. “I just woke up like this – I don’t know what –”

“Oh, so it _did_ work!” Morgana exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

“My – my lady?”

“I’m so sorry, Gwen.” Morgana hurried to the table, still stark naked. “It was supposed to be for me – it must be because you interrupted just as I was finishing it.” She opened the book.

Gwen looked at the illustrations and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh!”

“I can fix it now if you want,” Morgana clutched the book in both hands. “although – if you really don’t mind – can I see it?”

Gwen hesitated, then – feeling bold – raised her skirts. The cock was pressing tight against the white cloth of her undergarments.

“Well, that doesn’t look comfortable.” Morgana reached out and pulled Gwen’s undergarments down. The cock sprang out, bigger and thicker than it had been that morning – which was only natural, Gwen supposed. “Oh!”

“I know,” said Gwen, “it’s –”

“It’s lovely, Gwen,” Morgana breathed. Then she dropped to her knees. “Do you mind?”

Gwen wanted to say something but she knew that if she so much as opened her mouth a torrent of nonsense would flow out as it always did and ruin whatever moment they were having, so instead she just nodded.

Morgana dipped forward and pressed her lips to the tip of Gwen’s new cock. Gwen felt a shudder run through her like a bolt of lightning. “Oh,” said Morgana. She reached up and wrapped a hand around the head of it, drawing back the foreskin – and then she kissed it again.

Gwen‘s knees trembled. She was certain she was going to fall over any moment. But Morgana was just playing. She drew back, toying with the foreskin again.

“My Lady –” Gwen’s voice shook.

Morgana shushed her and stood up, her hand still clutching the wet head of Gwen’s cock. “I just wanted to see.” Then she kissed Gwen, tongue slipping into her mouth, and Gwen thought her insides might be melting.

Morgana’s hand tightened around the cock, squeezing and pulling, and Gwen felt things tighten and release. She squealed as she came – not better than usual, no, but different and new and _exciting_.

“My Lady.” Gwen pulled back, suddenly feeling quite apologetic.

“Gwen,” said Morgana. “ _Gwen_.” She cupped Gwen’s face in her hands and kissed her again, gentle. Then she drew back and began murmuring the words of a spell.

Gwen felt a tingling, then an unpleasant slithering of parts rearranging.

“See? It works.” Morgana smirked and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to take you to bed now.” One of her hands slipped up Gwen’s skirts. “If that’s quite alright.”

“That would be perfectly lovely,” Gwen said.

 

 **49.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur; Arthur/various  
 **Warning(s):** unintentional and intentional manipulation, misuse of magic, jealousy, morally dubious Merlin

Merlin squints at the glaring sunshine invading the tiny kitchen of their flat.

Arthur mumbles a rough, sleep-deprived, "Morning." His neck’s peppered with enough love bites that Gaius would probably want to check for leprosy.

Merlin just grunts and heads for the teapot -- it’s full, the tea steaming hot and perfectly steeped because while Arthur might be a bit of a slut, he’s still a brilliant flatmate.

They eat toast and butter in silence. Somewhere between the first sip of tea and the fifth, Merlin notices Arthur’s hickeys have disappeared. Maybe he should be worried about that, but then maybe it’s just a trick of the over-bright sunshine.

\---

Even with his door closed and a movie playing on his laptop, Merlin can still hear the snogging happening on the couch in the living room.

Sandy (Sophie? whomever Arthur’s brought home tonight) is passing directly outside his door on the way to Arthur’s room when she says, “I’ll be right back.”

The bathroom door clicks shut.

Trying not to think about Arthur’s date getting into something more comfortable, Merlin turns up the volume. It works until the banging starts.

“Arthur? Arthur!”

Merlin can hear the growing frustration in her voice. There’s more banging and Arthur’s shouting by the time Merlin gives in and pauses the movie. He steps out into the hallway and Arthur’s in his boxers talking to the closed bathroom door.

“What’s going on?”

“Sophia’s stuck in the loo,” Arthur says to him, then louder to the door, “Just turn the lock, Soph.”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Sophia says, patience clearly gone. “I know how to open a fucking bathroom door, you fuckwit. This one is broken.”

They get the door open, eventually. It just pops open like it’s been waiting for something. Sophia pauses long enough to scowl at Arthur before slipping on her heels, shoving a pink lace something into her purse and storming out of the flat. 

Merlin’s quietly amused and offers for Arthur to join him in watching the rest of the movie.

\---

Then there’s the time Gwaine’s zipper gets stuck, the time all Arthur’s condoms somehow dry out and crack inside their packages, and the time Arthur’s phone stops working and it costs him a chance to date Vivian.

Neither of them seem to want to mention the strangeness of it all.

\---

When the fire alarm goes off mid-fellatio and Arthur accidentally bites Percy’s cock, Merlin realises what’s happening. 

The moment before he’d been listening to Percy’s (way too loud) filthy mouth go on about Arthur’s talents. In a flash of jealousy he’d wished Arthur would slip and use some teeth. 

\--- 

“I’m a terrible person,” Merlin says to himself after Percy leaves, walking gingerly in his tight jeans. 

\---

Merlin promises himself he’ll stop now that he understands, but the flat’s been quiet lately anyway, ever since Arthur stopped bringing anyone home. They often sit on Merlin’s bed and watch movies together. It’s nice. Merlin has no love life so it’s not an issue for him to just stay in, and Arthur’s company gives Merlin the warm-glow of _home_ in his chest. It’s really quite nice.

\---

Arthur’s already on Merlin’s bed when Merlin gets home from work.

“Staying in?”

Arthur shrugs. “I was planning on hitting the pub, then the front door jammed,” Arthur says, not looking up from scrolling through Netflix on Merlin’s laptop. “How did you get in, anyway?”

“I don’t know. It just opened.” Merlin shoves Arthur over because his ass always inches onto Merlin’s side before the movie’s half done. “Not _Die Hard_ , Arthur. I refuse.”

\---

Guilt can be a terrible thing, eating away at you constantly, but Arthur’s shoulder is warm and solid at Merlin’s side, making it easier to ignore.

\---

When Arthur’s lips wrap around his cock, Merlin knows Percy was right: Arthur’s mouth _is_ made for giving head. The love bites he leaves all over Arthur’s body don’t fade for ages; Merlin likes to poke at them just to watch Arthur squirm.

At night, sweat cooling and come dripping from his ass, Merlin forgets how they even got to this point. It doesn’t seem to matter anyway.

 

 **50.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

Having magic wasn’t like having skills at drawing or leadership. It was more like having blood rushing in one’s veins or having skin; it was purely physical, and Merlin barely even noticed having magic, before something reminded him. He could imagine a time when having magic had been natural, had been talked about aloud, but in the modern world where wonders were new technical solutions and cures for diseases, magic had no place.

Magic had made itself known especially when Merlin had been going through puberty. Then for the first time in his life had he realised how magic affected everything in his life, including physical and sexual aspects. When he took himself in his own hand for the first time, Merlin made the lights flicker, and when he came, the light bulb exploded to millions of pieces, and the sound alerted Merlin’s mum. In time he had learned to control his magic while he was pleasured, but sometimes there was a slip, because how could anyone fully control a thunderstorm or blood leaking from a wound or an orgasm? Merlin had scared more than one lover away with accidental magic during sex.

Arthur was different from all his other lovers though. Arthur’s sister had magic as well, and he knew better than others how having all that power leaking over and out of control might look like. Arthur’s sister Morgana had once almost burned down their house in the aftermath of one dream of a teenager. It had taken Merlin long to tell Arthur about his magic and even longer for them to become lovers, but when it finally happened they were both prepared.

The light flickered a bit when Arthur pushed the first finger inside.

“Just electricity problem. Don’t pay attention to it. Just look at me,” Arthur said and pushed another finger in almost too soon.

He kept on going just like that. One finger, one touch, some words that kept Merlin’s focus in Arthur instead of his magic.

But there was the sense of power flooding through him. It was moving just under the surface, just under his skin, and Merlin knew his magic well enough to know he couldn’t hold it in if he lost his concentration even for one second.

“Arthur...” he said, trying to warn Arthur about what might happen soon.

Arthur shushed him quiet and kissed him to stop him from talking. Something thumped on the floor in the corner of the room, and this time it had probably been just a pile of books and nothing that would break.

After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Arthur pushed inside Merlin, and a there was another flicker of light and the sound of something falling down, even though Merlin wasn’t that interested what it might’ve been anymore. The magic was leaking out of him now, and Merlin probably should’ve been worried about what the neighbours might think he was doing, but he wasn’t, and when he finally came, all the things from furniture to small objects shook slightly for a moment and then stopped.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think?” Arthur said smugly and rolled on the other side of the bed. “Nothing valuable was broken.”

Still basking in his post-coital bliss, Merlin looked around in the room. Everything had moved some inches from its original place, but nothing valuable had, as Arthur had said, been broken. It was still probably weird to have to clean up the whole room afterwards after fucking. Merlin wondered if Arthur was up to doing it for more than one time.

“Your eyes turn golden when you do magic. Did you know that?” Arthur asked him when they’d both caught their breaths. Merlin shook his head and waited for any other reaction. Disgust, rejection, something.

But it didn’t come.

And if anything, Arthur appeared to be pleased that he’d made Merlin come with such a force. Well, when he thought about it, it should’ve been obvious to Merlin. Arthur had always been competitive, and no way was he going to perform worse than some of Merlin’s other lovers, Heaven forbid.

As long as Merlin wasn’t setting anything on fire during the night, they were going to be just fine.

 

 **51.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con (somnophilia)

Merlin's heart skips a beat when he sees the mangled body in a heap of parts, before his brain catches up.

It's in decent shape, except for the hole where exposed cables protrude from ragged but real-looking skin and the mark on the face like a bad bruise, below one empty blue eye.

The back of its neck is rough, serial numbers filed away, but he recognises the style of the Camelot series. Everyone's seen the glossy ad vids.

When Merlin touches it, something sparks under his skin like static and his eyes feel hot. He can't go deeper, not out in the open like this. But that's how he knows it's not dead and why he hands over the creds, more than he probably should for a broken droid. He ignores the yardman's lurid grin.

*

He takes it to Gwen first, because she's better with hardware.

"You'll need a pro-shop for the skin," Gwen says, examining the wound critically. They both know that's too risky.

"Just do what you can," Merlin says.

*

The way his mum tells it, when Merlin was five, he crawled into her lap and did something that made a password dialog come up. While she tried to move his childish hands, some keys were pushed, that were, coincidentally, correct. The next day Hunith lost her job. Machines don't work like that, they said.

At 12, the secret police didn't believe him either, so he showed them. When his eyes flashed hot and golden, one of them pissed himself. They beat him so badly he couldn't see for days.

There's benefits. One of his parlor tricks is to order food that's not on the menu screen and have it appear in the meal slot.

It's also why he lives underground, in a room full of screens, taking jobs from anonymous sources that pay handsomely and don't ask questions.

* 

It's called Arthur, model no. 48690317. Even if the droid is one of a thousand replicas, Merlin can't keep thinking of him as "it." Not when he has a name and he's lying naked on Merlin's bed.

At some point, Merlin will have to find him some clothes.

The codebase is heavily encrypted, but Merlin has a couple programs he uses for this kind of work. After about 14 hours, he's swimming in Arthur-world, scrolling through layers of complex algorithms. He can sense the edges of the AI architecture, tantalizingly buried, but he makes himself run the diagnosis and repair modules first.

Merlin gets himself a sandwich. Nothing much happens. After a while, Arthur's skin feels warmer.

*

Merlin wakes up to that same feeling, only more intense, like electricity buzzing through him, and he must be having a wet dream, only instead of fading away, it just gets better.

The room is barely lit by the red diodes of his sleeping machines, and when he looks down, he sees Arthur kneeling over him, his mouth on Merlin's cock, moving up and down, relentless. 

Arthur's eyes glitter at him, and it _feels_ like a real mouth, hot and tight with just a hint of teeth, and then Arthur takes him deeper. Merlin bucks up, beyond thought, coming in wracking spurts down Arthur's throat.

"What the… hell?" He manages, panting. "Are you - ? I didn't even think you were functioning."

Arthur settles next to him, gloriously naked. He licks his lips and Merlin wonders if there's a piece of code somewhere that lets him taste it.

"Looks like you fixed me."

"So you did that in what? Gratitude?"

"Service robot," Arthur replies, as if that explains - anything.

"Um. Question. Does that mean you serve me?" Merlin asks.

Arthur doesn't answer, because that's when Merlin's proximity alarms go off, and he's out of bed as fast as his wobbly legs will carry him.

"Oh, shit," he says, tapping at a screen. "We need to get out of here."

*

Merlin has a plan for this eventuality, which amounts to: low lay and let it blow over.

Arthur has other ideas. Like knocking out the cops try to ambush them, stealing a transport, and sneaking into Avalon Tower.

Merlin's never hacked anything this big before, but when he connects to the interface, he can feel the system spreading out for him like a dark city. Arthur is at his back, strong and solid, and Merlin reaches inside him and finds the information he needs, slides it like a key into the lock.

And changes everything.

 

 **52.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

“Arthur, what did you do?” Morgana pushed her way into Arthur’s flat. Any patience she had for him had been lost after having to grow up with him. Over the years he had gotten himself into a series of mishaps and mayhem that no one would actually believe if she tried to tell them.

This, by far, was the most ridiculous.

“I really don’t see how this is my fault.” He quickly closed the door behind her and crossed his arms over his chest. The movement put on display the still bleeding scratches on his forearm. 

“It was his fault.” a voice said from under the bed and Gwen poked her head up looking exasperated. She gave Arthur an apologetic look “I know you of course didn’t mean it to turn out like this.” Arthur only pouted more.

“You haven’t been able to find him?” Morgana directed her question to Gwen, turning her back to Arthur.

Gwen shook her head frowning “The second I entered the flat he hid.” A hopeful smile crossed Gwen’s face “Maybe if we get some tuna?” 

“Yes, because that’s something I would just keep around.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled in disgust “I am perfectly capable of finding him on my own; there is really no need for either of you to be here right now.”

Morgana’s mouth tightened “Yes, I can see just how capable you are.” She swept her arm out to indicate the flat that was bare of the presence of Arthur’s boyfriend of the past three years.

Arthur sneered at her “Did you ever consider the reason he hasn’t come out is because the two of you are here. He was perfectly content with me.” 

Morgana huffed looking pointedly at the scratch on Arthur’s arm. 

He dropped his arms defensively rubbing at the mark “It was an accident.”

“Yes, just like this was clearly.”

Gwen interrupted their bickering “I think he might be right about us being here, I think we’re the reason Merlin hasn’t come out yet.” She smiled softly at Morgana “If we move out of the way we might go to Arthur?”

Morgana ignored the smug look Arthur was sending her and conceded with Gwen, following her over to the couch. They both drew their legs up under them and sat quietly, waiting. Arthur settled on the floor, his back against the door as he crossed his legs.

Not even half an hour had passed when Morgana glimpsed a flash of black from the behind the hamper. The kitten that crept forward was fluffy and small, bright blue eyes throwing them a suspicious look before it padded slowly towards where Arthur sat.

Arthur’s eyes softened as he saw it and his voice was low “Come here Merlin, I doubt you want to spend the rest of your life like this.” He held out his hand and Merlin sniffed it, whiskers twitching. Arthur gently picked him up and cradled him against his chest. He stood from the floor, the small kitten securely held against him and indicated for Morgana and Gwen to approach.

Merlin looked at them apprehensively for a moment before losing interest and going back to where he was gnawing on Arthur’s thumb. 

“Really Arthur?” Gwen sighed exasperated.

Arthur looked guilty “All I said was he was a sex kitten, I didn’t expect this to happen.”

“You know Merlin’s magic likes to please you,” Morgana examined the kitten reaching out with her own magic to feel the threads of the transformation “he’s been sick lately, it’s no wonder he lost control of it with how tired he’s been.”

“I know that now,” Arthur scratched the kitten behind the ear “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Morgana pulled the thread of magic holding the spell in place and it crumbled, Merlin reverting back to his natural state before their eyes. Morgana turned away to give them some privacy and caught Gwen doing the same, a blush on her cheeks.

The transformation had taken place after Merlin and Arthur had spent the entire weekend in bed together. They had been breaking in their new flat and celebrating Merlin feeling better after a run in with the flu. Merlin had just got done riding Arthur and had collapsed on top of him laughing when Arthur had made the comment.

When he’d realized the kitten kneading his side was in fact Merlin he had called Gwen. Gwen in turn had Morgana.

Morgana heard a groan of embarrassment behind her and finally laughed. 

 

 **53.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** barebacking, minor mentions of prep for clean anal sex

Arthur’s stomach growls, and Merlin laughs through his nose - pops off Arthur’s dick long enough to press a kiss on his belly, give it a few pats.

“It’ll be over soon enough,” he says, and rolls his tongue delicately around the edge of Arthur’s cockhead. “Think I’ll have a hot dog after this myself.” And then he takes Arthur back in to the root with a ridiculous scarfing noise that makes Arthur’s dick jump in his mouth. He pops off again. “Maybe some sausages.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Arthur says, hooking a leg over Merlin’s shoulder to put him back to work, and Merlin laughs. Goes for it like a goddamn expert, lips all wet and stretched red, and if Arthur watches him for another second he’ll cream himself, render enemas and twenty four hours of no food wasted for both of them.

He tilts his head back and looks at the water stain on Merlin’s ceiling instead, the one they named Walter when they were eleven because it’s shaped like a humpbacked man. Hardly does him any good, though, when Merlin’s fingers rub soft over his taint, before tapping a beat against the base of the plug stuffed tight in Arthur’s arse.

“Jesus,” Arthur breathes as Merlin sends zips of his magic through the tapping, flaring up into him and spreading out.

Merlin pulls off a third time, grins. “God, you’re so hot for it,” he says, tapping some more and grinning wider when it makes Arthur’s hips twitch up involuntarily. “Gonna look so good. Here, let me -” And he gets to his feet, cock absurdly hard and flushed with blood. The sight alone makes Arthur’s toes curl.

Merlin holds out a hand, eyes flashing gold before the camcorder zooms from his desk and into his palm, neat as anything. He flips open the side screen and fusses with the controls, setting them up to go right after the rimjob from last week, and Arthur has to reach down and squeeze himself imagining it, the close up of Merlin’s tongue dipping and pushing into him - his noises -

“Come on,” he urges, and when he sits up, gasps as the plug prods inside, Merlin turns dark eyes on him and lets go of the camera, leaving it to float on its own - which it does, bobbing along behind like a curious animal when he moves to climb atop the mattress.

“You come on,” he says with a little quirk of a smile, knee-walking until he’s in Arthur's lap, and that’s all Arthur needs.

He flips them quick, gets Merlin on his back and sees the camera follow their movements out of the corner of his eye, probably picking up the way their cocks bounce, and it sends heat sparking through him.

“Lube,” he says and then there is lube, cool and slipping over his fingers - more of it as he reaches down to rub where Merlin’s got himself spread.

“Mmm, shit,” Merlin says on a groan, lifting one leg so the camera can nudge into the close space as Arthur presses fingers in, and Arthur knows how it’ll look, sloppy and wet, Merlin’s skin clinging -

He also knows how his own arse looks when he pulls Merlin to the edge of the bed and sinks in with a long, easy push. How the end of the plug sits nestled there, not quite red and not quite pink. How it looks bright and hot zoomed in enough, like it’d sear your fingers to touch it.

And they both know the bit they’re trying to capture, but Merlin still pants out, “Tell me when you’re close,” as Arthur manhandles him into a good position, pushes one of Merlin’s legs forward to prop his arse up and just go for it, fuck into him with hard, jerking thrusts, pulling out on every third or fourth one and letting the camera pick it up when Merlin’s hole gapes open like it wants Arthur back.

He slows the trusting when he feels his balls tighten up. Slows a few times to draw it out longer, listen to Merlin’s alternately low and high whines, but then he speeds it up, fucks quick and deep until, “God,” he gasps. “Yeah - I’m -”

And Merlin reaches to put a hand to Arthur’s chest, stills him while Arthur pulls out enough that only the head of his cock’s inside, the rest of his length twitching, pumping for the camera.

He’ll be glad for it later, when they watch Merlin push the come out on screen, let it run down and drip to the sheets.

 

 **54.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin

The burn and stretch of blunt fingers inside of him always sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. The man who worked him open - a stranger he had met earlier at the pub - laid messy kisses on his neck and breathed empty encouragements in his ear. 

He wasn’t normally one to take strangers home, but there was something about this one - Martin? Melvin? Arthur didn’t particularly care what Cheekbones’ name was - that changed his mind. His eyes were a fathomless blue and when the man looked at him, Arthur felt stripped of more than his clothes. The stranger made their one night stand feel heavy, laden with intent, and intimidating in a way Arthur wasn’t used to feeling.

The stranger pushed the flat of his palm up his back, his calluses a wonderful rough friction against his sweaty skin, his fingers still working him open with excruciating tenderness. Arthur wanted to command him to stop and fuck him already, but something in the touch stayed his words and choked him silent. The gentle affection was too much, pushed at a fission inside of him, fractured him apart, tugged at the back of his mind. A tingle of awareness whispered that he knew this stranger, that he understood the blanket of sadness in his eyes, but that was impossible. Arthur hadn’t met him before that evening. 

“You ready?” The voice was muffled against his collarbone, its deep gravely drag seductive like a siren.

Arthur nodded, beyond ready to get this rodeo going, and pushed back, urging him to go faster.

Being filled was as heady as he remembered: the sharp white burn and the dizzy and lust-drunk sensation of being stretched full. Cheekbones thrust to the hilt and Arthur’s neck lost the ability to hold his head up. “Come _on_ ,” he urged, when his partner took his sweet time moving again. 

“Always so bossy,” the man murmured against his neck. 

Arthur was about to ask how or why the stranger would say that, but Cheekbones chose that exact moment to draw out and thrust back in, knocking all thoughts beyond ‘Harder!’ and ‘Fuck, _yessss_ ,’ from his mind. 

The previous gentleness was abandoned for a rough, fast fuck that knocked him into the pillow protecting his head from the headboard. Over and over and over, the rough slap of skin and hard push of the man’s dick carving out a spot inside him that he worried he might feel past morning.

The man gripped his hips, hands surprisingly strong, fingers digging into his skin. “Fuck, Arthur, Gods,” and Arthur agreed. Every brush against his prostate sparked behind his eyes and sucked his breath from his lungs. 

The sensation of his balls drawing up and the familiar crescendo of blood rushing through his chest made the world explode in a bright flash of golden light that drowned him in its brilliance.

When opened his eyes, his heartbeat still loud in his ears and his breath ragged and spent, he noticed that everything around him appeared to hover a foot off the ground. He blinked and rubbed his eyes; his orgasm had been good, but not enough to cause hallucinations. When he opened them again his stuff was still floating mid-air. 

His partner was slumped on his back and Arthur shoved him off and sat up. “What the fuck, what the fuck! Martin, are you seeing this?” The man groaned and scratched his head, making his hair look even more ridiculous. He looked around and groaned, which struck Arthur as an inappropriate response. 

“Merlin...” 

Arthur glared. “Whatever, _Merlin_. What the bloody fuck?”

Merlin sighed and dropped his head into Arthur’s pillow. He groaned again before lifting his head and looking at Arthur with an expression he was part annoyance, part apprehension, and part something he couldn’t parse. “There’s something I probably should have told you before we shagged.”

Arthur pinched his brow and vowed in that moment to stop with the one night stands. “Something that explains why my shit is suspended mid-air?”

“Magic?”

“Magic.” He had somehow picked an escaped mental patient up and taken him into his home. 

“Arthur, what do you remember about Camelot?” 

“That it’s not real?” 

The man took Arthur’s hands and looked him straight on. His eyes flashed gold and all of the floating stuff fell back to the ground. “Right. Well. Let me tell you a story then...”

 

 **55.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen (background)  
 **Warning(s):** none

The first time it happened, it was completely by accident. Arthur had just finished a meeting with the council and Merlin wasn’t there. As king, of course Arthur was worried because of course as Court Sorcerer-Advisor, Merlin should be at every council meeting, hence him marching to said absent Court Sorcerer-Advisor’s chamber. 

The sight that greeted him beyond the doors of Merlin’s chambers was a sight to behold indeed. Arthur had seen Merlin naked before, obviously, during the many adventures they’ve had and still have, but never like this. Merlin was sprawled out on the bed with his head resting against the pillows; his lower lip caught between his teeth and the flush on his skin ran from his face to his chest, heels planted firmly on the mattress with his legs spread wide. What made Arthur want so bad is the fact that both Merlin’s hands are bound to the headboard; he was pleasuring himself with his magic.

Arthur knew he should just leave and let Merlin be, it is in fact, a private moment he had no rights to barge into, but he couldn’t help watch how Merlin’s cock was hard and straining against his bare stomach, the head flushed and leaking with precome. Arthur could feel his mouth salivate. If only he could just touch, taste, suck Merlin. He wanted so much but he knew he could never have this one thing.

Just when Arthur had made up his mind and resolute on leaving, preparing an apology speech in his head for later, bright golden orbs opened and stared straight right into his blue ones, and Arthur froze. Next thing he knew, he fell backwards into a chair with his breeches already down to his ankles and his cock was already hard. He wanted to tell Merlin of all the reasons why this was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t do this, that Merlin deserves so much better than a tryst, but he couldn’t.

Arthur might be a noble and just King, but he was only a man. He had needs that have been repressed for so long he couldn’t fight it now, not when Merlin’s looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered. He reached down and started stroking himself slowly, loving how Merlin’s eyes grew hungrier at the sight. He brought two fingers into his mouth and sucked, moaning at how frantic Merlin’s magic was stroking his cock. 

He brought his slicked finger to his arse and teased his hole; he’s done this before in his chambers, when Gwen is sleeping in her own, with his fingers deep inside him, moaning Merlin’s name when he comes, then washing himself while berating himself for being so shameless. Arthur slid down the chair even further so he wouldn’t hurt his wrist, and pushed one finger slowly inside, his breath coming out in puffs of warm air, and distantly he could hear Merlin moan and possibly whispered brokenly ‘more’, so Arthur slid another finger inside. 

Not wanting to waste time, he worked out a steady rhythm and pumped his fingers, adding another every few strokes, hitting his spot over and over. Merlin’s breathing became heavier, following every soft moan Arthur let out, and before Arthur could even relish in the sounds Merlin’s making, they both came at the same time, and were both moaning each other’s names.

They just sat there, trying to catch their breaths. Merlin whispered something foreignly familiar, and then Arthur felt clean and crisp, trousers already done and laced, but Merlin was still lying on the bed, not looking at him.

He should leave, Arthur thought, but instead, he walked toward the bed, reached down and lightly trailed his fingers along Merlin’s face. That one touch was all that was needed before Arthur left the room, for the next night, Merlin came to his chambers, not a word spoken between them except Merlin’s ‘I want this’, and they did what they did and it became a routine.

Arthur knew Merlin deserved better, but he wanted Merlin too.

 

 **56.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Balinor/Hunith  
 **Warning(s):** None

The sky rumbled with the drone of airships, but all Balinor heard when he found the scrap of a girl camped on his doorstep was her unbelievable, "I hope you're packed."

Gaius was no help. "If anyone can get you out alive, it's Hunith."

"She's a child."

"She's nineteen."

"She said no magic."

"Because she knows magic's why you need to run, you idiot. Trust me. She'll lay down her life to get you beyond Uther's reach. She might look helpless, but she'll surprise you."

In the end, he had no choice. Gaius's prediction came true when they encountered their first roadblock, three of Uther's finest, perched on the low roofs of adjacent pumphouses. Hunith shuttled him to the shadows as she slithered to the corner and pulled a long strip from beneath her fingerless glove. Crouching down, she blocked his view until sparks danced away from her. That's when she bolted back to his hiding place, the rust coating the wall beginning to glow white-hot behind her.

They slipped past as the guards scrambled to stop the building from melting. 

"You said no magic."

"That's science. Thermite, actually. Lucky for you Uther likes his men to have brawn, not brains."

"Must be why he never cared for me, then."

With a roll of her eyes, Hunith continued clambering down the slag heaps.

Their first night was spent in the bowels of an abandoned mine, long ago bled dry of its coal. Separate sleepsacks. Mutual decision.

Night two came early. A random patrol caught them unprepared, driving them up a tree until their smoking vehicles lumbered past. 

"I could get rid of them with one spell," he whispered.

She glared at him. "No magic."

Separate sleepsacks was the only way to keep from throttling her for refusing obvious aid.

Before dawn, snapping in the undergrowth woke him. When he spotted one of Uther's automatons through his monocular angling its camera toward them, he murmured the spell automatically and aimed the fireball directly at its lens.

It blew up with a sizzling pop. Sagging against the trunk, he met Hunith's wide eyes and scowled. "It would've reported us back to Uther. Magic isn't always bad, you know."

Her throat worked. Balinor braced for the scolding to come.

"Thank you," she said.

The Hunith he walked with on that third day was different to the one he'd started with. This one allowed him to lead occasionally, as well as asked questions about his life that carefully avoided the reasons for his flight. When they ended in a small cave at the edge of rebel lands, she was the one who shoved him to the wall and sealed their mouths together.

He didn't waste breath asking what the hell she was doing. His hands fit around her soft hips like she was made for him.

"So magic's not always bad?" she rasped as she tugged his shirt free.

Balinor shook his head. His mouth was too busy sucking and biting at her taut nipple through her thin blouse. Corsets were perfect for thrusting breasts up into the perfect position for it.

"Show me."

Her demand startled him into pulling away, but her searing gaze refused to back down. He glanced toward the cave's mouth and hid it from outside view with a single word.

Hunith smiled. "So now I can be as loud as I want."

"I'd never ask you to be to be anything but who you are."

Somehow, he ended up naked first. The coarse wall scraped his back, while Hunith's desperate nails raked along his shoulders and arms. She kissed like the world was ending, leaving him raw and hungry for more, and when he finally muttered the spell to get her stubborn pants out of the way, he dipped his fingers into the slick heat between her thighs.

She climbed up his body and clung to him, quivering and expectant.

"They say I'm dangerous," he whispered.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Arrogant. Maybe." 

With the shift of her body, she caught his cock and sank down, shuddering when he was fully buried. Her lips sought his as his hands curved around her perfect bottom, and for long seconds, neither moved, unable or unwanting, didn't matter. Beyond the cave, the world was changing, but here, all that mattered was the slip and slide of their sweaty flesh, her cries when she came, the murmur of her name when he followed soon after.

That night, they only used one sleepsack.

 

 **57.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

The first whack to his backside came as an outrageous shock. Arthur stopped midsentence and whirled around to see who had dared to swat the royal posterior.

No one was there. Arthur frowned and turned back to the council table. “Who did that?”

Around the table he saw only raised eyebrows (Gaius, Guinevere, Gwaine), stoicism (Leon, Elyan, Percival), and sniveling cowardice (Lord Rathgar, at whom Arthur had just been shouting). No one showed any signs of a guilty conscience.

Arthur cleared his throat. “So. As I was saying, Lord Rathgar, your stupidity in this—ow!”

The second slap hit harder than the first. Arthur had to look down to make sure he was still wearing trousers. No corporeal hand could have stung his bum so sharply through the thick fabric.

Instinctively, he looked toward his sorcerer for the answer. It took him a moment to remember that Merlin was in Nemeth, because Mithian was too cheap to hire someone to take care of her magical problems full time. 

It took him another moment after that to remember their fond parting embrace and Merlin’s soft words in his ear. “Just don’t be a prat to everyone while I’m gone, yeah?” And then he had given Arthur an affectionate slap on his arse.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said out loud. Slowly, Arthur sank down into his chair, ignoring the slight tingle in his buttocks as well as the look of abject terror on Lord Rathgar’s face. “I am absolutely going to kill him.”

***

Whatever hex Merlin had left on him, it clearly disagreed with Arthur over what prattish behavior entailed or how many times in a day Arthur engaged in it. Could he help being a bit grumpy while Merlin was away? Merlin ought to find it flattering, the ungrateful, idiotic— _oh!_

By dinner time, his seat felt warm and just on the pleasant side of sore. It took until the final course for Arthur to realize he was actively grinding his arse into the chair to intensify the feeling. “Huh,” he said. 

Instantly, George was at his shoulder. “My lord? Do you wish something else?”

“Nothing you can give me,” Arthur snapped, and— “Oh!” There it was, an extra-hard spank to his sorest spot. Oh, he did like it. His bottom tingled and the tingling was spreading down into his balls. All he needed was a warm hand to rub that tingly feeling around and then smack him again to make it better.

Oh yes, he like this very much. Merlin was an ungrateful, idiotic, _genius_.

***

Merlin whistled a happy tune as he swung off his horse. He looked up and grinned to see Gwen tearing down the steps to meet him. 

“Hullo!” Merlin called and waved. Gwen and Leon both had begged him not to leave, citing how intolerable Arthur would be by the second day without Merlin to keep him in line. But Merlin had fixed that little problem, and he couldn’t wait to collect on their effusive thanks.

“Thank the gods you’re back.” Gwen nearly fell against his chest and wound up clutching huge fistfuls of his tunic as she glared up at him. “Don’t you ever leave again unless you’re taking him with you.”

Merlin could feel his face falling. “Oh no. He can’t have been that bad. Can he?”

“He was a monster, Merlin,” Gwen said. “He was rude and entitled and critical and... and....”

“A prat?” Merlin finished with a sinking heart.

“Until he locked himself in his chambers two nights ago. No one’s seen him since. Thankfully.”

Merlin considered that, until some things about Arthur and his habits both in and out of bed finally pieced themselves together. “Er,” he said, “I think I may have miscalculated something.”

***

He didn’t bother knocking when he got to Arthur’s rooms, but just waved his hand over the lock until the door swung open. Merlin stepped inside, locked the door again behind him, and then sighed.

There was his King, face in his pillow, arse in the air, mumbling to himself and frantically pulling between his legs. His plump cheeks shone bright red, and Merlin could almost make out the individual prints in the shape of his own hand.

“For God’s sake, Arthur,” he said.

Arthur turned his head and grinned at him from under his sweaty fringe. “Merlin! Do you have any idea what a frightfully incompetent sorcerer you are? Ah!”

As Arthur’s body jerked under the force of the magic blow, strong now with Merlin’s presence, his sorcerer shrugged and headed for the bed, reaching for the lube as he went. He might have to concede that his plans needed some work, but like his king, he was prepared to make the best of it.

 

 **58.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Percival  
 **Warning(s):** None 

Percival was looking forward to his first evening off patrolling in weeks. Unlike the other knights, he had no desire to spend it in the tavern. Instead, he convinced the laundry maids to let him use a tub for a hot bath. After a long soak, he slipped back to his quarters.

He was about to snuff out his candle when he heard a soft knock on his door. Without waiting for his response, the door swung open and Gwaine strode in.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but I thought you were on patrol tonight.”

“Switched with Leon.”

Percival was about to ask why when Gwaine spoke. 

“I have a surprise for you.” Gwaine pulled a vial out of his pocket and waggled it in front of Percival's face.

“What is that?”

“It's a magic potion.”

“What does it do?”

“It's a magic _sex_ potion,” Gwaine corrected. “It's supposed to 'increase virility and passion'.”

“And what does _that_ mean?”

“I assume it means it'll increase my already exemplary sex skills.”

Though Gwaine was boasting, he wasn't wrong. Sex with him was usually perfunctory, but satisfying. They both got off, quickly in whatever hidden moments they could find, and it was good. 

Percival almost turned him away, set on getting a full night's rest, but part of him was intrigued. Since they found out about Merlin's magic, he was curious to experience it in some way, and Gwaine looked so eager, Percival couldn’t say no.

“All right, yeah.”

“Really?”

“You could use more virility.”

Gwaine shot him a dirty look, but he uncapped the vial, sniffed the contents, and then shrugged before taking a swig. He passed it to Percival.

Percival brought it up to his nose tentatively. It didn’t smell much different than the tincture Merlin gave him the last time he had a fever. He took a deep breath before draining the vial.

Percival glanced up at Gwaine and was startled. He wondered if magic could work so quickly, because Gwaine _looked_ different. There was a new intensity to his gaze; his eyes were wide, pupils blown. Percival's stomach somersaulted, and suddenly he was light-headed.

Gwaine stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. Percival did the same. 

“Sit on the bed, against the wall there,” Gwaine ordered.

Percival did as he was told. He fixed his eyes on Gwaine who stalked toward him, straddled his lap, and then leaned down to capture Percival's lips in a bruising kiss. 

Gwaine tugged at Percival's bottom lip with his teeth, sending a shiver down Percival’s spine. Then Gwaine moved to his neck and found a spot behind his ear that seemed connected to Percival's cock.

“How did you know?” Percival panted.

“Magic,” Gwaine whispered, and nipped at the spot again.

Percival could only respond by gripping Gwaine's arse cheeks and squeezing, pulling Gwaine forward so their cocks brushed. Gwaine groaned into Percival’s mouth. 

It had never been like this. Every inch of Percival's skin was at attention, greedy for Gwaine's touch.

“I need that giant prick of yours inside me or I'm going to die,” Gwaine murmured.

“Gods,” Percival moaned.

Gwaine grabbed the oil from the shelf by the bed. He reached around and slicked himself before sinking slowly down on Percival's cock. Percival’s heart raced. Gwaine was everywhere, and it wasn’t enough. They fell into a frantic rhythm with Percival thrusting up and Gwaine slamming back down until they were panting in exertion. Percival tried to fight off his orgasm, not wanting it to end, but Gwaine was overwhelming him—the space between their bodies was nonexistent. 

He tried to reach a hand in between their bodies, but Gwaine brushed him away. 

“Don’t need it,” Gwaine panted. Percival felt it then. As Gwaine came, his channel tightened and it wrested Percival’s own orgasm from him.

“Well, that was intense,” Percival finally said.

“Yeah, I—”

“Stay,” Percival blurted out. He was still determined to get a good night's sleep, and Gwaine was warm and pliant.

“Okay,” Gwaine whispered, and he settled in, fitting easily at Percival’s side.

* * * 

The next morning Percival ran into Merlin. 

“Thanks for the potion last night, Merlin.”

“Percy, I have to confess. There wasn't any magic in that potion. I couldn't find the spell, so I just added some clove to the fever tincture.” 

 

 **59.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** A bit of rough sex

Holding Merlin against the headboard, Arthur shoves into him in an uneven rhythm that he knows is stretching Merlin’s hole just past the brink of pain. Yet Merlin writhes against the smooth wood of Arthur’s headboard, his fingers scraping against the surface as he whines and takes every bit of Arthur’s size and strength. Arthur grips Merlin’s hips as tightly as he can and pours his focus into the drive of his hips, pulling Merlin’s body back so he can bury himself as deeply as possible in that tight heat, in attempt to drown out all the troubling thoughts. 

He tries not to think of Merlin’s eyes glowing gold. He tries not to think of the way Merlin extends his hands, his incredible, terrible power flowing out invisible to the eye. 

But Arthur does, and it fuels him on despite himself. It drives him to have Merlin rammed against the headboard, mewling and scrabbling at the wall beneath the force of Arthur’s onslaught. 

As Arthur’s peak finally starts to claim him in the intoxicating clutches he sought, his fingers squeeze another set of bruises into the smatterings already adorning Merlin’s waist. Merlin works a hand desperately over himself, quickly chasing his own high before he feels the burst of Arthur’s white-hot release in the deepest reaches of his body. 

When Arthur slowly starts to draw out, aftershocks still coursing through him and the final bursts of his seed trickling onto Merlin’s skin, Merlin whimpers at how stretched-open and empty he feels. 

Afterwards, as Arthur slowly relaxes enough to let Merlin free, he things of the soft way Merlin likes to move his fingers across Arthur’s skin. He thinks of the way the bed’s always warmer with Merlin curled against him. The smile on Merlin’s face when Arthur named him his court sorcerer and consort. Arthur feels ashamed. 

After Merlin finally manages to lie down and catch his breath a bit, he reaches out to touch Arthur’s back.

“I know why you do it… Always after I’ve used magic during a council meeting or an audience.”

Arthur’s moved to the edge of the bed, looking down to the floor without really seeing anything. “I’m sorry…. I don’t know what to say.”

“You know you have nothing to fear or doubt from me.”

“Of course I know,” Arthur replies immediately, then breathes out loudly as he turns. A frown pulls at his face from his frustration with his own behavior. Merlin hates the way it looks, moving near enough to touch the corner of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur has that troubled look, where he has more to say but doesn’t quite know how.

“Tell me,” Merlin murmurs, moving back into Arthur’s space and kissing softly along his jaw, to cure Arthur’s tenseness and reconcile the distance.

Arthur breathes out, treading lightly through the muddle of his thoughts.

“It’s…remnants of the way my father taught me to think. A force that could wreak havoc and leave me helpless to do nothing but watch, causes something in me worse than fear. It’s…failure.”

Merlin pulls back to see his face, while Arthur’s leaning into him again, now that the words are out. Merlin just smiles fondly, reaching up to trail his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“How can one mortal, even a great king, expect to control everything in the world around him? You expect too much of yourself.”

“That’s probably true.” Arthur’s hands have crept back to Merlin’s waist, fingers brushing softly over the light bruises there. 

Merlin leans back into the pillows and Arthur follows him down, lying close above him as Merlin’s hands settle along his shoulders.

“My love for you makes me helpless,” Merlin says in a musing voice that’s just an easy truth. “As much as I do enjoy when you…get rough,” Merlin adds a wiggle of his eyebrows and a flash of a roguish smile, and Arthur can’t help chuckling at the resurfacing of his familiar old manservant. 

Then Merlin’s fingers touch the shape of his cheek, and immediately they’re lovers again, who’ve shared all forms of intimacy.

“It’s these moments that really subdue me… make me solely yours for the ruling.”

“Merlin…,” Arthur leans in to taste the bare sincerity he knows he’ll find on Merlin’s lips.

“I only hope I deserve that,” Arthur murmurs as they wrap each other close, lying side by side.

“You probably don’t, you great prat, but it doesn’t matter. Whether you do or don’t – I would pledge myself to you a hundred times over.”

 

 **60.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, past Merlin/everyone  
 **Warning(s):** Certain elements could be read as having dub-con overtones, but everything is meant to be consensual.  
____________

Merlin had asked him once, if Arthur could feel it—magic in the air like something alive, something to be wrapped in like a shroud and cradled by. The night had hummed with it, the earth panting beneath their feet like it was feverish with power. 

Arthur had shaken his head, none the wiser about what was engulfing them, suffocating him. 

He wonders if Arthur can feel it now, the same current flowing from his fingertips that infused the air that night. He wonders if Arthur knows that it seeps into his skin like a sponge, leaving trails across his body like ribbons of gold. 

Arthur's skin tastes like magic and Merlin chases it with his tongue, cherishes every inch of Arthur's body he is given, an offering Arthur does not realize he is making. Arthur trembles under his touch, pliant and conforming, and Merlin shapes him into an idol, an effigy, something to be worshiped and revered in a way that Arthur will never understand. Merlin prostrates himself at Arthur's feet, in Arthur's bed, and it feels so much more immense than that night in the clearing ever did. 

He wonders if Arthur can feel it, the thrumming under Merlin's skin, the searing heat of his touch like there is fire in his blood. Arthur's skin erupts in his wake and Merlin drinks it in, the air heavy with so much more than their breath. 

 

Gwen had suspected, unsure of the atmosphere that oppressed her, that spoke of something outside her experience. Merlin had been tentative in turn, whispered into her skin until she calmed, opened to him, let the weight in the air settle around them like it belonged. 

Merlin's fingers had been soft against her skin, his touch fleeting, the heat more so.

He had molded her, too, like clay under his hands; but she shed his touch as easy as breathing, and his magic had rolled off her skin like sweat, like water, to collect unimportantly at her feet. 

 

Morgana had known immediately, even if she didn't _know_ , sensitive to his touch the way no one had been before. Her skin had sung out to him, her blood pulling him at him like a magnet; and he had gone, helpless in the face of the fury that simmered just beneath the surface of her very being, that threatened even then to drown them both. 

 

He had never been sure about Lancelot, because Lancelot knew his secret from the very beginning, knew that the gold of his eyes was just a show, a physical manifestation of something so much deeper, so much _more_ ; and if Lancelot's skin broke out in goosebumps at his touch, well, that could've just been _him_.

 

Gwaine had been easier, so much easier to read: The wonder in his eyes, like he wasn't sure if Merlin was real; the hesitation in his touch, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed; the reverence of his kiss, of his lips that dragged across Merlin's skin, like he was wasn't sure if he was worth the opportunity he had been given. 

Merlin had soothed away all of his doubts like balm on an open wound, giving and giving and _giving_ until Gwaine had come undone under his hands, his body resonating with magic and everything that Merlin was. 

 

Merlin had asked Arthur once if he could feel it, and he wants to ask again but he won't: This time, he will make certain that Arthur can. He will make Arthur's blood run sluggish with magic and he will make Arthur's skin shimmer bright with gold: Down to his bones, a glittering, forbidden thing. 

He will give Arthur everything he can, everything he _is_ , as much of himself as Arthur can hold.

 

 **61.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** -

Arthur looked at the men and women that were sitting at the bar, subdued with unseeing eyes but a smile on their faces. Like lunatics. Perhaps he had made a mistake. 

"They're high," a boy, told him, "high on magic and sex. That's what you came here for, isn't it?"

He'd heard the stories. Stories about magicals using their power to give men and women pleasure such as they had never known. Those practices were banned from Camelot a long time ago. But this was Cenred's kingdom Arthur was passing through after a frustrating diplomatic mission. He'd earned a diversion.

He looked the pale boy up and down. He seemed unimpressive, like a twig, easy to snap. But his eyes, glowing gold and the wicked grin on his face were more than a little intriguing.

"How much?" Arthur asked. 

The boy leaned in close, "Nothing you couldn't afford, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur reeled, how did this peasant know his name? He should have struck the boy; instead he answered the matching grin. "Impressive. Tell me _your_ name then, young warlock?"

"It's Merlin." Suddenly smiling blindingly, he took Arthur's hand leading them to a small bedroom at the end of the corridor.

Arthur expected the whorehouse to have large beds with velvety cushions, smelling of sex and wine. But the room was simple, shabby and cluttered, matching Merlin's poor state of dress. 

He didn't quite know how they went from Merlin, on his knees before him, sucking his cock so hard Arthur saw stars, to Arthur, on the lumpy bed, on all fours with his arse in the air. But he did know that this was the best anyone had ever made him feel. Merlin licking him down there, tongue pushing inside and kisses covering the sensitive skin. Then something very different from a finger had pushed inside, deep and unrelentingly pulsing against that place that made his cock twitch. Magic. It was inside of him and soon it was everywhere. 

Every inch of his skin was suddenly hypersensitive and every bit of it felt like it was being touched. Merlin's magic instinctively found all the places the made Arthur moan, like the inside of his knees, his nipples, even his bloody toes. All the while those strings of magic entered and left Arthur’s body, fucking him from inside out. 

Considering the stimulation, Arthur didn't expect to last. He felt his balls tighten and he was sure he was tipping over the edge when suddenly a pressure at the base of his cock staved of the orgasm. He groaned. Merlin's magic was truly devious. 

The pleasure was almost too much and soon his was bucking against Merlin’s sinful lips, listening to greedy sounds the warlock made. 

When Merlin did finally let him come, Arthur felt boneless and breathless for several long moments. "There's more later," Merlin whispered, before Arthur succumbed to sleep. 

He woke up with a craving, body tingly and cock twitching. Taking in his surroundings, the events of the night before slowly came back to him. When his eyes fell on Merlin, his heart missed a beat. 

Merlin was watching him. A string of rope, magical, Arthur thought, looking at the tinge of gold in it, tied his hands to the bed. His legs were spread wide in invitation. 

"I'm giving you what I know you want, Arthur. Fuck me, make me _feel_ it. I'm entirely at your mercy."

Knowing that it really was the other way around, despite Merlin's bound hands, he complied. His finger pushed between Merlin's spread legs, finding him already wet and loose. He shivered before losing himself completely in the tight squeeze of Merlin's arse. 

Soon, he felt a new pulse of magic, this time it joined Arthur inside Merlin, stretching Merlin's arse even further. Arthur continued fucking in abandon, relishing the sensation of dual stimulation and finally collapsing after the second orgasm of the night. 

Magical bonds falling away, Merlin fell asleep in his arms. The boy looked so innocent, so young. Yet the pleasure of having his body and his magic, being given it so freely and enthusiastically, was already like an addiction. Arthur would not let him go. The thought of Merlin providing these 'services' to a random stranger was unbearable.

"You're coming with me," he whispered to Merlin's sleeping form and the ghost of lips touched his chest, as if Merlin was sealing his promise with a kiss

***

Merlin smiled as the Camelot citadel came into view. He'd always known his prince would come. His magic had done its job, destiny would do the rest.

 

 **62.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

"Merlin." He called out into the seemingly empty room. He had no idea what the kid's real name was. All mediators and protectors were issued new designations when they reached level 2. Hell, Arthur barely even recalled his own birth name. It had been so long since he'd heard it.

"Merlin!" he shouted this time. The fool ruined his perfect time management. 5 minutes to remove security. 3 minutes to make arrangements for a safe return. 8 minutes to take out the target. A total of 16 minutes for the job to be done with a 4 minute leeway. 

The time adjuster on his wrist said he had been in this shifted phase for 22 minutes. "Shit" They would need to climax now to get back. Anything past 20minutes required a damn heat session. 

"Sorry. sorry." Merlin phased, nearly stumbling into existence about 6 feet in front of him. 

Idiot. Arthur echoed his thought out loud before continuing, "We're two minutes over thanks to you trying to save the puppy." Arthur closed the distance between them and pulled Merlin into his arms. "No one said anything about saving puppies _Mer_ lin."

"No one explicitly said I couldn't either. He'll got a nice home now." The young mage sighed looking pleased with himself which only made Arthur more infuriated.

"I swear I end up having more sex with you than actual time manipulation."

"This is a problem because…?" Merlin teased before kissing Arthur lightly on the lips and pushing his hand past Arthur's **D** iscretion **B** arriers. 

"They monitor these missions." and until he was assigned this 'permanent mediation', he only needed to kiss his partners to get back to their own reality. He never even thought to wear a DB until the third time he arrived at the dispatch station half naked and covered in come.

"Of course they monitor, and they know we did our job. Now make my endorphins go fuzzy oh prat of mine." Merlin rolled his eyes at the same time as he moved his fingers down to grip Arthur's cock.

Arthur huffed at the indignity of it. If the sex wasn't so bloody fantastic he'd lodge a formal complaint, but as it stood his heart rate elevated to the required percentages just at the touch of Merlin to his bare skin. Stupid bastards in HR, with their Insight Pairing Database. Arthur was starting to hate those damnable fortunetellers even more than he hated how hard he fell for Merlin.

A beep from his time adjustor encouraged him to get on with it almost the same way Merlin had. 

The young mediator's DB shimmered when Arthur's hand passed through it to smooth warm skin. He couldn't resist leaning in to start a deeper kiss, one where he could taste the coffee and muffin Merlin had before the mission, and make his partner moan out more encouraging little sighs of need.

Merlin hooked a leg up around Arthur's hip, and with his free hand Arthur helped guide it in place. Merlin did this on the last mission too, nearly climbing Arthur as they humped into each other's fist, and since they both only wore DB's it was delicious full body naked friction, just the right kind of thing to ramp up those endorphins for the final tug through time.

Arthur steadied his balance, taking more of Merlin's weight onto his hip and slid his hand up Merlin's thigh. The pacing of each stroke between them fell into a familiarly perfect rhythm that increased in tempo and grunting pleasure down to his core. The time adjuster beeped once more as a warning to Merlin's climax. As always, knowing his partner was that close right before it happened and feeling Merlin's tense build up of power forced Arthur's own alert to sound seconds after.

Unthinking, he bit down on Merlin's lip as he came. He couldn't help it. He got carried away. Unfortunately, damage done, the speed of the shift ramped up and slammed both of them through to the station almost instantly. They landed in a heap of uncoordinated appendages in their handler's office rather than the landing bay.

"Shit." Arthur swore.

Merlin let out a soft giggle that quickly turned to post orgasmic/situational laughter. 

Gaius, their handler, raised a playfully judgmental brow. "You'd think with all your years of service Arthur, you would know that pain play isn't required unless the mission goes on for more than 4 hours."

 

 **63.**  
 **Pairing(s):** OT4 (Merlin/Arthur/Morgana/Gwen) and very brief mention of past Morgause/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None.

She wakes up sobbing, clutching a wound that isn’t there. The afterimage of blazing hate in Merlin’s golden eyes and cool steel sliding into her stomach far overwhelm everything else, and reality seems subjective. Gwen comes rushing in, murmuring soothing placations, and Morgana holds her, instinctive, disbelieving, and weeps for them all.

\---

Every night she falls asleep and expects to wake to someplace else, and every morning she wakes to a Camelot where Uther is king, Arthur still loves her, Gwen is still her demure maid, and she is still alone. For weeks she feels as though she walks in a dream, her visions of a bleak future feeling far more real than this surreal Camelot of old.

It isn’t until she hears Arthur complain about an insolent peasant with impossibly large ears that she begins to believe, dread, hope.

\---

Morgana waits, warring between enjoying the easy, comfortable pattern the four of them have fallen into and heeding the warnings her nightmares still give to her, but after Ealdor she knows she can’t put it off any longer. The seeds have been sown, and she can’t allow them to grow up to strangle them all.

She sits them down, and everything begins anew.

\---

She would like to pretend that everything after that is easy. That Arthur accepts the magic, that Merlin replaces his lies for trust, that Gwen’s naïveté transforms into wisdom, that she never feels the shadows of anger and hatred threatening to invade and ruin everything –-

\-- It isn’t so easy.

\---

When Morgause arrives, Morgana is tempted, if only for a few, long minutes, to run to her, to sob into her shoulder and let her sister take care of her again. She dwells on the thought longer than she cares to admit, remembering lips and hands and the feeling of being completely adored --

When the bracelet appears in her chambers, she turns it around in her hands for what seems like eons, and it isn’t until she slips it on her wrist that she stops herself.

She takes it down to the village and trades it for a set of hairpins. The look on Gwen’s face when she slides it into her maid’s hair later that night helps to ease the longing in her heart. Some.

\---

It takes Gwen getting kidnapped, Arthur nearly committing fratricide, and she and Merlin nearly being arrested by Aredian, but they’ve finally come together. It’s sure to be messy and hard and so much more complicated than first glance, but for once, she stops thinking of ‘what if’s and just lets things be.

\---

Morgana sobs and pants, clutching at where Gwen’s thighs are resting on Morgana’s shoulders, and licks up into wet heat. She’s on sensory overload – Arthur’s fucking into her at a deliciously bruising pace while Gwen’s sat on her face, Merlin’s sucking at Gwen’s breast, and everything is a sweaty, passionate haze. The huge four-poster bed is a tangle of sheets and limbs, edged in gold as Merlin’s hand finds hers and tendrils of magic shoot out from the both of them, exploring and seeking and caressing. One tweaks at one of her nipples and tightens around it, warm and tingling and almost electric, and it sends her over the edge, seeing gold and bliss and promise.

\---

It isn’t so easy, but when she sees the crown placed onto Arthur’s head, she can _feel_ the magic in the air sing about the Camelot that is to be. She looks at them and sees the future: the king, the queen, the sorcerer, the seer --

She beams. 

 

 **64.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Mordred  
 **Warning(s):** might sound like slight dub-con at some point

“You’ve never been with one of your kind, have you?“

Merlin worried his lower lip.

“Thought so.” Mordred smirked. “The great Emry is too much of a coward to get it on with another warlock.”

“I’m not!” Merlin knew there was something to it. He knew how to bring pleasure with his magic but had never allowed it for himself. Of course, there had been lonely nights where he might have used magic to pleasure himself, but that was different, wasn’t it?

Mordred leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “So, what have you done to others? This?” His eyes flashed golden and Merlin’s clothes vanished. 

All at once, he felt vulnerable and shy, fighting the urge to magic his garments back on. 

Laughing, Mordred came closer, got up on his toes and licked Merlin’s cheek. “How about this?” A flick of Mordred’s wrist and Merlin’s hands were tied in front of his body. “Do you like it that way?”

Merlin chewed on his lower lip and closed his eyes. For how long had he wanted this, how lon had he denied himself the pleasure? “Yes.” He was ready for someone else being in control.

“Do you trust me?”

No, he didn’t. He’d never trusted Mordred, but he wanted this. 

“You don’t.” Mordred chuckled as he shoved Merlin backwards onto the bed. “Of course not. But you still want it so bad, don’t you?”

Just as he was about to nod, Merlin gasped. Mordred’s magic had wrapped around his dick and started to caress him in ways he hadn’t even imagined possible. Merlin groaned and arched into the touches. He needed more and Mordred knew it.

“Say it.”

“No.”

The magic was gone and Merlin almost whined. 

“Say it. Say that you need it, that you want it, that you have waited your whole life for this.”

Merlin struggled. He wanted this from Mordred, but that didn’t meant that he would beg for it. But…”Please?”

“Fair enough.” Mordred laughed and the magic was back on Merlin’s body. 

It felt so different from his own, like strange fingers reaching for him, caressing his skin, pinching and tweaking his nipples. Merlin closed his eyes and moaned.

He heard Mordred chuckle and Merlin’s eyes flew open when he felt magic penetrating him. “You’re not…”

“You wanted my magic, not me. How often did you do that to others, Emrys? How often didn’t you date to get physical, but let magic do the job for you? How long will you wait for someone who will never return your feelings?”

Merlin’s magic flared up. Why did Mordred have to bring Arthur up now? 

“Oh,” Mordred laughed, “sore spot, isn’t it?”

“Let me go.”

“No. You wanted this, you will get what you asked for.”

Struggling against Mordred’s magic that was stronger than he had thought, Merlin groaned in frustration. 

But then his eyes fell shut and he moaned in pleasure when he felt magic pushing against his spot.

“See, you want it.” Mordred smirked.

“Yes,” Merlin yelled out, “yes, I want it. I need it! Give it to me, come on, druid!”

A lazy smile on his face, Mordred leaned his shoulder against the bed post and let his magic work Merlin’s spot harder. 

Merlin cried out when he came and then the magic was gone. He shivered and drew some forced breaths. 

Mordred came over and pressed a kiss on Merlin’s head. “Send for me when you need me again, Emrys.” 

 

 **65.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Minor violence, temporary paralysis?

It starts with an old man in a vest.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” says Arthur, when Giles says, “But you’re a _boy_. Oh, dear, something must have gone terribly wrong,” and then again, three weeks later, after Arthur’s world has been turned upside down, and Giles concedes in the most unconvincing tone that – “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do.” 

Turns out being the Slayer sounds a lot cooler than it actually is, but Arthur gets used to killing creatures that don’t exist, and people ignoring him when they don’t believe him. He does what he has to do. 

(He’s a hero is what he fucking is; the shadows would be most happy to confirm that if only they’d be slightly more talkative.)

*

Another slayer gets recognised while he’s a little bit dead. It’s ridiculous, really.

She’s apparently a lot more feminine, as one would expect of a slayer, not that Arthur can particularly tell. 

Her name is Morgana and she looks at him like she thinks he might die any moment, before punching him in the face, and then again, and then she saves his life on the next mission. 

“Don’t get used to it,” he tells her, and she grins for the first time ever before she slaps his arse.

“Now we’re even. Next time, I’ll break your face, brother dear.”

Slayers aren’t strictly required to be mentally stable. 

Of course, Arthur could have told you that.

* 

They don’t talk about the goblet. Or the unicorn horn.

Or how Arthur lost his parents at thirteen. It’s a good deal. 

Giles is really like a father to him. They talk about as much.

* 

“Merlin? As in the great wizard Merlin? With the beard?”

“Well, since the turn of the 16th century, it’s been Merlin the vampire. The beard makes the occasional appearance, yes, but not as often as you’d imagine,” says Giles.

“He’s all yours,” says Morgana. She’s definitely warming up to him.

*

“It’s an honour,” Arthur tells him, before sending him sprawling on the floor.

“Really,” he adds, when Merlin’s (beardless, surprisingly young face’s) only reaction is to stare, stare, stare some more and also lie very still.

It’s almost a relief when the wooden stake doesn’t do the job. There’s always a price to pay.

*

Arthur routinely decapitates vampires for less than a living and has seen things most people could never dream of, but somehow, no one ever saw fit to tell him about magic.

He can imagine why, when it skates up his spine in a happy burble that renders him immobile and also really, really stiff. Like a plank. On a ship. A really tiny plank. It’s a thing.

“You’re evil,” he tells Merlin. 

“Well, now you just sound like your father,” he says, and seriously, there’s no reason for Merlin to sound either that happy or smug, aside from the paralysis and incidental localised stiffness.

Or the opportunity to kill Arthur, which he doesn’t. 

“You’re a real mystery!” Arthur shouts after him, but Merlin just turns around, smiles, and says, “All part of my charm,” and then, “Ha, _charm_ ,” and Arthur supposes the centuries must have got to him, because that’s just not funny at all. 

*

So, not so much with the vampire thing. The magic thing, on the other hand… Arthur would be mad, except he just killed six demons in a row without breaking a sweat, the magic flowing from Merlin’s fingers to Arthur’s, flowing all the way through him, and he’s never felt that powerful or in control. 

Or aroused, but that’s a minor detail. Well, until Merlin grips his neck and says, “Well done, sire,” like that’s a fucking sane thing to say, so Arthur kisses him because – 

“No, really, shut up.”

“You know I never do,” Merlin says, and then kisses Arthur back like his life depends on it.

Arthur’s not even holding a stake. 

Oh, well.

*

No one told him about magic and how it races up and down his spine and his fingers and his teeth and how he just can’t get enough of it, so warm and happy and like the home he doesn’t remember.

Like Merlin’s mouth. 

“You like it?,” Merlin murmurs. “Tell me you like it. Fuck, you _love_ it.” Merlin’s eyes glow a joyful, disbelieving golden before he says, “It will always protect you. Always.”

And OK, that’s too many tears for Arthur, but he can lick those off as he sits on Merlin’s cock; it’s only polite, after all.

*

He was made for chasing evil, Arthur was, and Merlin’s mouth is decidedly wicked. 

He might just chase it for an eternity. 

 

 **66.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/everyone, Merlin/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con by way of magically planting dreams

It takes him awhile to notice. Too long, maybe, but he'd had had a lot going on since arriving in Camelot. Armor to polish, prats to save, secrets to keep. So yes, maybe it was staring him in the face, but he is to be forgiven for not noticing straight away.

He touches himself thinking of Gwen one of his first nights in that glorious room that he has all to himself. She'd been so sweet, bringing him a bit of bread and water to tide him over until he was released from the stocks that evening. She was beautiful, not like any of the girls in Ealdor, and he brings himself off with images of sliding a sleeve of her dress slowly off of her shoulder.

The next day it's nearly nightfall before she will look him in the eye, but Merlin chalks this up to guilt and paranoia. 

When Lancelot makes his way into Merlin's life, Merlin finds his newfound privacy compromised. He doesn't mind sharing his quarters with Lancelot, didn't mind at all. Didn't mind it so much that when he's stumbling around the armory polishing Arthur's armor for the third time (for reasons Merlin STILL doesn't understand) his mind maybe wanders a bit. It's quick and rough, but there is time enough to envision exactly what it would look like if Lancelot dropped to his knees and...

He makes it back to his room and collapses on the floor, hardly sparing a glance and the man sleeping in his bed. The next day Lancelot is all ducked glances and small smiles, and Merlin assumes he is nervous about combat trials and thinks nothing more of it.

It's not until ages later that Merlin finally gets a clue. And he doesn't get it on his own. He has help.

He's been having...thoughts, about Arthur and literally all of his knights. Thoughts that accompany actions. Quite often. Possibly nightly. He notices, only just, that his interactions with them are suddenly awkward. That Percival gives him a little more space than he used to, that Elyan won't be alone in the room with him anymore. It makes no sense. Until it does.

"So!" Gwaine leans against the wall and watches as Merlin puts Arthur's pauldron in place. "I had an interesting dream about you last night." 

"Oh?" Merlin says, disinterested. There's a weak spot he hadn't noticed on the pauldron, he should probably see to it soon. 

"Very interesting." Gwaine is giving Merlin a look that...well. A look that Merlin stops to pay attention to. A look that he wasn't really expecting Gwaine to turn his way.

Gwaine pushes off the wall, crowds into Merlin's space enough to whisper "Turns out I'm not the only one who's been having interesting dreams about you, Merlin."

Merlin swallows. Gwaine's close enough that he can feel the heat from his body, sweaty and loose from practice. "I don't-"

"Meet me back here once you've got Arthur sorted for the night," and Gwaine leaves, walks away without a look back. 

Merlin's nervous as he makes his way back to the armory, half convinced that he's got this all wrong. But when he opens the door, Merlin knows he's made the right decision. He turns to close the door behind him and Gwaine comes up close, wraps his arms around Merlin's waist.

"How are you doing it?" Gwaine asks. "Not that I'm complaining." He pushes his nose against the back of Merlin's head, burying his nose in his hair. "No one is complaining, to be honest."

Merlin wishes he had an answer. He has a suspicion, but he hadn't known such a thing was possible. If it is the case that his magic is making this happen, that's not an explanation he's about to give up. "I'm not doing anything," Merlin says, but his voice doesn't sound quite right. Maybe it has something to do with the way Gwaine's hand is snaking it's way down his torso, slipping inside Merlin's breeches. "Maybe you just all have really- ah! Really good taste!"

Gwaine laughs before he latches he mouth against Merlin's neck, uses his other hand to loosen Merlin's breeches enough to get room to maneuver. His cock is hard, pressed against Merlin's arse, and it doesn't take long before his calloused hand brings Merlin to a shuddering climax.

"Maybe we do," Gwaine smiles. His hands are strong on Merlin's hips as he turns him around, presses him back against the door and steals a kiss expertly. 

 

 **67.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None!

Elena is the only one to actually cheer a minute after the gryphon goes down, but she's expressing joy for all of them, because she's the only one with any energy left.

"Next time, we should get Merlin to help," Mithian says, as her staff disappears. They long ribbons in her hair don't disappear, and her skirts stay the same length (impossibly short) but Morgana figures that's just part of the exhaustion. Transformations do take energy and none of them have that to spare.

"Magical creatures are the _worst_ ," Sophia agrees. "Maybe next time it'll be something else."

Morgana doesn't point out that all of the creatures they battle are magical. It'll lead to an argument and she doesn't have the brainpower for a debate about the nature of the monsters they battle or the nature of their transformations. All she wants to do is go home and curl up with Gwen.

A hand slides into hers, drawing Morgana's attention back to the situation, and she attempts to smile at Gwen. It feels awkward on her face, but Gwen's returning smile is beautiful, even with the exhaustion lining her features.

"Let's go home," she says. 

Home is comfort and sleep and Morgana is out before her head even hits the pillow, still dressed in the too short skirt that is their uniform, complete with heels and cleavage baring tops. 

When she wakes up not even an hour later, panting and wild-eyed, Gwen is there next to her, and they are both back to plain clothes. The sheets are a mess and Morgana knows her hair must be tangled. But Gwen's there, blinking sleepy eyes at her, and Morgana can't bring herself to care about anything else. 

"Why are you even awake?" Gwen asks. "I feel like I could sleep for days and still not be rested."

"You can go back sleep. It's not a big deal." 

Gwen sighs at her, like she does every time Morgana tries to pass off her visions. "Come here, you," Gwen whispers, and tugs Morgana down. "It is a big deal. Stop trying to act like they're not."

"I just want-" Morgana pauses, unsure of what to say, what she wants. It's hard to pinpoint, even harder to formulate those desires into words. 

"I know," Gwen says softly, cutting off Morgana's train of thought. Her hands slip beneath Morgana's shirt, curling around her back, soothing and comforting. "I know."

She does know, and that's one of the best things about Gwen. Morgana turns her head and presses her lips against Gwen's. 

Gwen smiles; Morgana can feel it, rather than see it, and it makes her smile in return. "Is that what you want?" Gwen asks, with a soft laugh. "I can arrange that." And then there is shifting, and Morgana is disoriented for a moment, until she settles back against the pillows, Gwen stretched out over her.

They're both too tired for anything intense, but Morgana likes this, the slow rocking of their bodies against each other, and the soft, lingering kisses. Gwen strips them both to their underwear, tossing their shirts aside, pushing down their skirts. Morgana doesn't even realize they're mostly naked until Gwen's hand is sliding down her body, and she loses herself in the simple pleasure of touch - specifically, Gwen's touch.

Even when Gwen has her fingers inside Morgana, turning and twisting, the pace is slow, and Morgana finds it strangely calming. There's none of the usual franticness of sex, just the comfort of her girlfriend in her and around her, and when Morgana's orgasm hits, the lingering tension from earlier disappears. 

"Better now?" Gwen asks, as she withdraws her hand, and shifts, as though to move away from Morgana. Morgana makes a desperate sound in her throat, reaching for Gwen, and Gwen immediately curls back against her. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. Just pulling up the blankets." 

Morgana nods, but wraps her arms tightly around Gwen. 

"What about you?" Morgana murmurs, struggling to open her eyes.

"You can pay me back," Gwen says, with a soft laugh, and it makes Morgana smile again, as she drifts off back to a dreamless sleep. 

 

 **68.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/OC, implied Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** grief, non-con

That this became his go-to default for sex had been pretty much an accident. Merlin was fond of _things_ , one might call it sentimental, and the unfortunate side effect of not dying was that other people did. A lot. It had started with Arthur. His father before that, really, his mother, Freya (sort of), Will, ... other people. Not that many other people, maybe.

He was sitting over a tea, an iPad, and a fair bit of crap music, looking out over the sea and lost reminiscing about his life. Things were easier now than they had been when he'd stood by and just watched them die. They'd been easier ever since he'd wrapped his mind around the spells and drawn matter tight, only to set it in stone.

He owned the estate now, independently wealthy and always supporting just the wrong party. No one quite knew what he was doing here, he was a private person after all. And, granted, the walls were high enough.

Merlin had been down in the morning, but when he slid his hands into his briefs his cock was filling again, already. He left the iPad and the news that changed every other decade and made his way into the basement. The air crackled with energy, magic sizzling across his skin as he walked deeper and deeper.

The lights turned on as he stepped in, illuminating the rows of beds along the walls. This was, crudely put, the copulation section. Others were in rooms further along but he was here most of the time. Heart monitors bleeped low, sinus curves, drips.

They all had their eyes open. Some of them had been here a few hundred years, others two. He'd never gone looking for any of them. He'd never looked for Arthur or any of the others either, but one moment he'd been miserable on his own, the other he'd been miserable with _missing_ as the subtitle to every action, person-shaped holes all over his existence.

"Hey handsome," Merlin whispered into Demi's ear. He'd met him in the fifties, eighteen hundreds, had seen him leave, and watched him, had seen him grow old after. And now as Merlin sat by his bed and stroked through his hair, lower, went for his cock as he slid onto the bed himself and curled close, it was like the music was playing again.

"Something was on the news today, you'd have thought it hilarious," Merlin said just before he pressed his lips to Demi's face. He had a little something of Arthur, the nose maybe, even if Merlin tried to not compare. He tried not to fuck here and show them magic and make them fucking love him back, tried not to stand proud and tall next door, curl up one room over, be a lover, be a friend, be _insert Merlin here_ to _insert person there_. Honest. Even if they all were a bit of Arthur here, the one in the next room a bit like his father, and so on. Maybe he just had types. People had types.

Maybe he was still good at lies, too.

He pulled at Demi's cock, rubbed himself on Demi's leg, as he teased his tongue between Demi's lips. He could ignore the brittle skin and the just-there breathing, the way the magic smelled in the air when he had to reinforce the stasis of life.

He ignored the empty beds, too, when he came in his trousers, tongue deep in Demi's mouth, tasting Arthur in it all. Demi's cock hung limp in his hand, and he didn't have the heart to turn it into anything else. He had more rooms if he needed them. No reason to let any of them go ever again.

The doorbell rang upstairs. He pulled himself off the bed and closed the door to the cellar behind him, magic sizzling. It was just the mail. Right then, he had a few hours until the evening.

 

 **69.**  
 **Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** mind control

What else was Merlin supposed to think when Arthur said “I’m entirely in your hands?” He was raised a country boy, where a hand job in the river or a quick toss in the hay was a common occurrence. Not that he’d ever been one of _those_ country boys, but his mind certainly was.

So after Arthur found out about the magic and asked with the most adorable blush Merlin had ever seen if he could be enchanted again, that’s immediately where Merlin’s mind went again.

He had to ask, just to make sure. “Are you, er, entirely in my hands?” Merlin said with a meaningful raise of his brow.

Arthur’s blush deepened but he nodded with as much dignity as he could muster given the circumstance. “Yes, Merlin, I am entirely in your hands.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Merlin!”

“Right, okay, getting on with it then.” Merlin put his hand on the top of Arthur’s head. His hair was really soft and Merlin made a mental note to start there once he said the spell. “ _Mod wæs cræftleas_.”

Arthur’s eyes drooped and he teetered a bit but then he snapped to attention.

Merlin tried it out. “Can I pet your hair?”

“Of course.” Arthur immediately bowed his head. Merlin reached out a hand and ran his fingers through it.

“Wow, that’s…that feels really nice,” he remarked.

“Can I look up now?” Arthur’s voice was muffled.

Merlin took his hand away. “Oh. Yes.”

When Arthur raised his head, he was smiling. “It feels nice because I have a really good servant that washes it for me. Did you want me to wash your hair? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to wash your hair.”

Merlin blinked. “Um.” Actually that did sound quite nice. It’d be refreshing for Arthur to bathe him for once. A nice hot bath, with strong fingers kneading his scalp… “Yes. But you have to stay here. I’ll go get the tub.”

Merlin was half out the door when he realised why that wouldn’t work. He’d told Arthur to stay put before and he had followed anyway. It seemed like some part of the spell required the enchanted to stick with the enchanter. Which made sense because then any old person could come by and tell him what to do.

“Actually, I’ll just tell one of the other servants to get it,” Merlin said. He stuck his head out and stopped a passing serving girl. She said she’d be right there with it.

Unfortunately, Arthur seemed to also lose all his coordination along with his will so the whole bath business started off rather messy. Finally Merlin just told him to take his clothes off and get in the tub with him to avoid getting water everywhere.

It was just as relaxing as Merlin thought it would be after that. He sat with his back to Arthur and kept the water warm with magic while Arthur’s fingers massaged his head. Merlin told him to rinse and Arthur cupped his hands and let the water flow down.

With a sigh, Merlin turned around and leaned back on the opposite edge of the tub. He scrubbed his arms slowly, unhurried, not like the way he usually bathed. When he looked up, Arthur was staring at him.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Merlin felt himself blush. “Thank you.” His eyes caught Arthur’s erection beneath the water. “Did you want to…”

Arthur glanced down at himself. “Oh.”

“Come here.” Merlin lifted his feet and placed his legs over Arthur’s legs as Arthur scooted forward. “Here, let me.” He put his hand beneath the water and wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s cock. Arthur gasped.

“That feels good, Merlin.”

Merlin started stroking and Arthur’s hands gripped the edge of the tub.

“Can I… to you?” Arthur asked hesitantly.

Merlin nodded and moved his arm to allow better access. “Go ahead.”

Arthur wasn’t sure of himself like he usually was, so Merlin had to keep telling him how well he was doing. “Yeah, Arthur, just…a little harder. There you go.”

There was a lot of splashing and moaning involved and then finally Arthur came. Merlin jerked his hips up into Arthur’s hands and finished right after.

Merlin told Arthur to kiss him.

 

 **70.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/ Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Merlin notices Arthur’s bullshit tolerance is reaching a critical stage by the way he starts to fidget in his seat; his usual polite to the point of fakery smile cracking under the weight of so many suck-ups and pass-the-buck men in the boardroom.

With a quick faux cough into his hand to disguise the flash eyes, Merlin’s phone starts ringing with a phantom call and he excuses himself from the room with a quick nod and a wink to Arthur. After a respectable 2- 3 minutes cooling his heels in the hallway to make the phone call at least _seem_ legitimate he returns to the boardroom to inform the very important people gathered there that Arthur is needed for a very important matter that only he can fix.

As Arthur’s PA he can do that.

As Arthur’s boyfriend he thinks he deserves a little better than a shag in the supply closet as thanks.

“Thank god,” Arthur says as he pulls him into the dark of the closet ignoring Merlin’s squawk of disapproval. “I was about kill them all with my bare hands.” 

He wraps one arm around Merlin’s waist as he crowds them against the wall, his other hand cupping Merlin’s cheek as he peppers his face with gentle kisses.

Merlin can feel Arthur’s hardness through their trousers and pulls away from him slightly with a determined air. While Arthur might be comfortable fucking 10 feet away from the boardroom and all its members, Merlin is not. He knows exactly how far his voice carries and how Arthur likes to make scream in pleasure.

“We’re not fucking in a broom closet Arthur,” Merlin proclaims, while desperately trying to avoid his partners roving hands.

Arthur grins at his challenge and Merlin would slap him across the face for his cockiness if it wouldn’t ruin the loveliness of it all. Instead he presses his weight onto Arthur’s foot and ducks away towards the door while Arthur’s distracted.

He’s captured a moment later with a muttered ‘brat’ and Merlin resists the urge to smile while he denounces Arthur as an arsehole. 

Arthur wraps his limbs around him and stares into his face with adoring eyes, blue clashing upon blue.

“Please darling,” Arthur asks and Merlin startles at the pet name; breath catching and face blushing.

Arthur rests his head upon Merlins shoulder, the very image of subjugation, but Merlin can _feel_ his smug little smile even if he can’t see it. He scowls down at Arthur’s head even while his body relaxes into his hold.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, breathing into the hollow of Merlin’s neck, his hot and heavy weight trapping Merlin along the wall. “Please, I just--”

Arthur places two little kisses to his collar bone as his hands delve beneath Merlin’s shirt, seeking the heat of Merlins skin.

“Goddamnit,” Merlin moans in supplication as Arthur pushes their bodies together more firmly, a rhythmic rutting motion developing between them. Arthur’s lips trailing up Merlin’s throat on a journey of discovery.

“Merlin. Darling,” Arthur whispers into his ear—and Merlin’s body jolts, all of his notions of impropriety vanishing, his better judgement defeated by Arthur’s sweet-nothings.

Arthur kisses him savagely and Merlin’s eyes flash gold. 

Suddenly there is a feeling of skin on skin, and Arthur laughs in delight at Merlin’s impatience, his giggles captured and enslaved between Merlin’s lips until they are transformed into groans of desire.

They part reluctantly to take in air and Merlin can spy their clothes discarded in one corner, crushed and rumpled on the floor along with his resolve.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous like this,” Arthur compliments, taking a moment to view Merlin’s flushed and sweaty body. Merlin scoffs in return as Arthur uses his hands and his lips to caress the planes of Merlin’s torso. Those scoffs become a choked off cry as Arthur sinks to his knees before him to worship his dick.

“Between the two of us, I don’t think I’m the one who’s gorgeous here,” Merlin breathes as Arthur hums around him. Merlin cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair, gripping tight every time he feels Arthur take him in deeper.

Merlin can feel himself on the brink of climax by the time Arthur releases him; his cock throbbing and chest heaving as he struggles to calm his racing heart. 

Arthur stares at him appreciatively, as if he were a work of art. “I want to fuck you, sweetheart,” he whispers and Merlin nods wildly, his eyes glinting gold. 

One second later Merlin's legs are around Arthur’s waist, lube and a condom in hand.

 **71.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Gwaine, lots of implied pairings  
 **Warning(s):** Feels

Gwen turned off the telly and leaned her head on Arthur's shoulder.

"I can't believe it's over," she whispered, wiping quickly at her eyes. "I mean, five years of our lives."

Arthur made a face. "We've done other things in the past five years. We haven't been sat here the whole time." But his voice was rough, and he had to clear his throat twice to get the words out.

"It's just-" Gwen tried to put her feelings into words, the sense of loss now that their show wouldn't be on every Saturday evening in the fall, how she would miss tweeting her reactions with Merlin, would miss Morgana's phone calls later, when they would debate whether this show was single-handedly rolling back all the feminist readings of the legends popularized by Mists of Avalon. Would the kink meme keep going? Would all their fannish friends wander off to new fandoms and leave them behind? To be honest, that was already happening, had been since Series 3.

Arthur pulled her close, his hand curling over her shoulder. "I know."

Their lovemaking that night was gentle. Arthur pulled her on top with her knees on either side of his hips, moving against her gently. He rubbed at the thin skin over her hipbones with his thumbs, his expression soft and turned inward. In his own way, he was grieving too. Gwen framed his face with her fingers. 

"Hey," she whispered. His eyes flickered, clearing, until he was actually seeing her. "It's okay. We'll, uh. We'll get the DVDs."

He looked startled for a moment, then laughed long and hard, head tipped back. "Only you, Guinevere," he choked out, still chuckling.

She kissed him mid-laugh.

***

Merlin sent her a PM the next morning, profusely apologetic.

_**Sorry!** _  
_**From: RusticWizardBoy** _

_Gwaine decided to cheer me up by taking me to the pub and calling the boys out. It was- well, it was Gwaine. He's still sleeping it off._

_Cafe today? Freya's shift starts at 2._

_xoxo,_  
 _Merlin_

She sent a quick reply - _yes, will bring Arthur & Morgana_ \- and typed up a journal post, locking it to her Camelot filter.

_Lunch today @ the usual, 2 if you can make it. I'll buy everyone tarts if you let me cry on your shoulders._

She had 30 comments in under an hour, though half of them were from out-of-towners. (And one sad comment from Elena, stuck in British Columbia for the term.)

Smiling, she called Freya to warn her.

***

The Rising Sun cafe was packed, nearly 3 dozen extremely devoted fans of a popular programme chattering, commiserating, and promising each other they'd stay in touch. Mithien was using the wireless to skype Elena in, so at least one of those fans wasn't taking up a seat, but most of the rest of the room was full. Gwen decided she owed Freya and Sefa a large tip for putting up with this.

"Avengers," Will said knowingly, "or Teen Wolf. If you want the group dynamic, that is. Sherlock if you were only in it for the weirdly hot guys."

"Don't stereotype," Elyan said. "Some fans like the genre and the whole legends bit."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Really, Mr. 'omg, look at that knight's arse'?"

Elyan cleared his throat and got up. "Oh look, Gwen needs me."

He dragged his chair over two tables and dropped into it with a sigh. Gwen watched him, amused. 

"Clearing the field?" she asked.

"Will's a wanker," he grumbled.

"But you'll miss him."

He bit his lip and looked away, and she found herself twisting her hands in her lap. They'd miss everyone.

Across the room, Morgana was explaining the issues inherent in _Lost Girl_ trying to portray a strong female character who was a slave to her sexuality. Morgause was arguing that the debate over a woman's sexual power was one of the most revolutionary themes to be dissecting on a major genre series. Between them, Kara was looking back and forth, eyes wide with wonder.

Elyan was watching too. "Fandom," he snorted. "The fights are so bitter because the stakes are so small."

"But it's what we love." Gwen watched Arthur and Merlin argue about a minor piece of canon, Gaius looking on fondly. "It's who we are."

"Yeah," he agreed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, sis. The magic's not in the canon - it's in the people. And we're not going anywhere."


	4. Group D (Warnings)

**72.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** n/a  
 **Description:** Magic reminds me of Peter Pan, so have a gay Pan!Merlin who kidnaps sexy men in their undies. :)

[](http://imgur.com/0KzlOwy)

**73.**  
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur (implied)  
Warning(s): intended to be consensual, but also a bit vague - could be interpreted as non con???

[](http://imgur.com/MzUdoKa)

**74.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None

[](http://imgur.com/u8d1e5R)

**75.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** More like apologies  
 **Summary:** _I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you._

[](http://imgur.com/SwvSXQ3)

**76.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

[](http://imgur.com/hGokEYj)

**77.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Mordred, Freya/Lamia, Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning(s):**  
 **Magical Orgy**

[](http://imgur.com/d80Cqj4)

**78.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Explicit  
Druidic rites have their perks...

[](http://imgur.com/lVhiMWY)

**79.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

[](http://imgur.com/KT0S8Ey)

**80.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Uther/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Non-consent, violence, blood, blood-play, hints of prior asphyxiation, come-play,  
 **Summary:** Uther discovers the secret to restoring his youth and ensuring his long-lasting reign lies in the seed of a sorcerer, but leeching magic is slowly destroying his golden goose.

[](http://imgur.com/Mi6Xvix)


	5. Group A (No Warnings)

**1.**

The soft giggle wafting through the trees made Arthur jump to his feet and clutch at his dagger. He saw no one. Shifting uneasily, he turned in a circle. It could have just been the leaves moving in the breeze. Gradually, he relaxed down on his bedroll next to the little fire.

He heard the giggle again, closer. His head snapped around and he nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw a boy almost blending into the trees.

"You!" he croaked, and swallowed. "Boy!" 

The boy smiled and stepped into the clearing, giggling again. He was _green_ Arthur realized. Not a dark green, but a muted, patchwork green that made him blend easily into the forest. There were leaves all through his hair and his eyes were gold.

Arthur stood, tense. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly. 

The boy shrugged and stepped closer. He was naked, the green more pronounced around his cock, taking on a brownish hue. 

"I have found a Pendragon in my wood." The boy's voice was lilting and soft. He sounded amused. 

"What is your name?"

The boy smiled. "Merlin." He stepped closer. Arthur was mesmerized. 

"What do you want?" he repeated, the words weak even to his ears.

Merlin stepped into his space and reached out to touch at his face. "To bring you the pleasure of the wood of course." He leaned forward and kissed him.

Arthur gasped and dropped his dagger, his hands reaching out to clutch at Merlin's hair and draw them together. A fever had taken him, and he burned with desire to touch, to taste.

"Merlin," he breathed, and Merlin slipped his tongue into Arthur's mouth, soothing. He tasted earthy and rich, like the smell of pine after a rain.

Arthur moaned and clutched at his hips, rubbing his erection on Merlin's bare thigh.

Merlin stepped away and laughed, breathless. "Come." He pulled Arthur down to the earth next to his bedroll, carefully stripping away Arthur's boots, belt, and clothing.

Arthur moaned as Merlin's mouth wrapped around his cock, suckling at the head, his tongue flicking over and over. He pulled off to lick messily around Arthur's balls and Arthur couldn't help the strangled shout, his muscles seizing.

Merlin quieted him, his kisses soft and light against Arthur's thigh. "Alright," he said, soothing, and Arthur felt a tug on his right wrist. He turned his head to look, but Merlin licked a line up his cock and his eyes rolled back as he moaned.

Something tugged at his other wrist, but he didn't care, only whimpered as Merlin reached down to rub at his hole, his fingers mysteriously warm and slick. Arthur's hips bucked, fucking himself forward into Merlin's mouth and backwards towards his questing fingers.

A cool touch on his ankle made him open his eyes. Arthur saw vines creeping up his calves, anchoring him to the ground. Twisting slightly, he saw that his wrists were similarly pinned to the ground.

His cock twitched in Merlin's mouth and Merlin moaned around him, sending frissons of pleasure up and down Arthur's cock, making him shudder and shake. 

"Please," he choked out, head tossed back. "Please."

Merlin licked at him and then pressed his fingers inside, twisting them deep. It hurt a little, but it was a warm hurt, one that stoked the fire building in his gut. A groan burst out of his chest.

Merlin sucked harder, his tongue flicking in rhythm with his pumping fingers. He crooked them forward and Arthur shouted and pulled at his bonds, feeling them dig into his wrists and ankles as he came down Merlin's throat. It was like falling off a cliff. He rode out the sensations, feeling the pleasure rushing through every part of his body.

He came to as Merlin pushed into him, his body lax as Merlin fucked him, not being able to help moaning piteously. Merlin kissed him on the inside of his thigh and quieted him as Arthur pulled weakly at his bonds.

Merlin cried out when he finished, and pulled out of Arthur to tuck his face into his ribs. The vines sank slowly back into the ground. 

Arthur's heart slowed as they lay there in the crackling firelight, Merlin's breath light on his skin.

"Be careful," Merlin mumbled, and Arthur could only make a questioning noise.

"Be careful," Merlin repeated, tucking his chin closer. "The High Priestess has put a bounty on your head."

A chill ran down Arthur's spine. "What?"

"Don't worry," Merlin muttered, on the edge of sleep. "You're mine now."

 

**2.**

“Have you learned nothing from Harry Potter?”

“What?” Arthur asks as he looks up from where he’s sprawled on the sofa. Merlin puts his hands on his hips and sighs deeply. “What?” Arthur repeats. “Was I supposed to learn that Molly Weasley is what you turn into when you’re angry?”

“Ha bloody ha,” Merlin says humourlessly. He doesn’t move from where he’s towering over Arthur. “That’s not it. Why are muggles not aware that magic is real?”

“Are you calling me a muggle now?” Arthur says indignantly and sits up. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“That’s not an insult. Muggles are just ordinary people. Why don’t they know of magic, though?”

“Because wizards are selfish bastards and don’t want to share their powers with us common folk.”

“Exactly!” Merlin exclaims and waves his hands around. “That’s the sort of prattish attitude that makes us hide. You’re not entitled to my magic, you’re gonna do your own bloody chores.”

“I was asking for a favour!” Arthur exclaims in return. His protests no further as he takes the stern look on Merlin’s face. His gaze darts downwards and when he looks up, he’s mustered what he hopes is his best puppy-face, the one Merlin can’t possibly stay angry at. He adds a smile and reaches for Merlin, tucking his fingers into the belt loops on the front of his jeans. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says softly. Merlin groans in annoyance but lets himself get pulled forward. When Arthur’s smile widens Merlin rolls his eyes and sits astride him, letting Arthur’s hands wrap around his waist.

“I’m not your manservant,” Merlin says tiredly, as if they’ve had this conversation a hundred times. Arthur frowns in thought. Maybe they have. In Merlin’s head, at least. They do bicker all the time, and a remark or two coming from Merlin might have been a bit more serious than Arthur had supposed in the minute. 

“I didn’t know it bothered you that much,” he says, apologizing, but not really.

“Please,” Merlin scoffs. “With the rest of you to deal with, you bossing me around is nothing.”

“Oi!” Arthur says and slaps Merlin’s arse lightly. “Watch it.”

“Or what?” Merlin laughs. He moves even closer, settling into Arthur’s lap more comfortably. “What’s a muggle got against _Merlin?_ ”

“Oh, here we go with the name calling again. And what – you’re _the_ Merlin now?” Merlin shrugs. 

“Could be his descendant or something.”

“Wait, really?” 

“I don’t know, Arthur,” Merlin says, heaving yet another sigh. “I don’t know how this works. I know I’ve got it from my father, but I never had the chance to ask him about it.”

“Wasn’t Merlin immortal, though? Young forever? Oh my god, what if _he_ ’s your father?”

“Oh, ew, Arthur, no!” Merlin lets out a terrified laugh. “My mother did not sleep with a thousand year old bloke.”

“Explain the name, then.”

“It’s just a name! I’m not Merlin’s son. _I’m_ Merlin. Just Merlin.”

“Well, _just Merlin,_ ” Merlin narrows his eyes and Arthur grins. “Come on, how would anyone know who he really was if he never aged? No, wait, what if he did die, but his soul, you know, got reborn?”

“You’re watching too much telly.”

“Seriously! You could be a version on Merlin himself.”

“Yes, and it’s my destiny to be stuck with you, a reincarnation of King Arthur himself,” Merlin deadpans and Arthur feels his jaw drop. “No, Arthur.”

“We could be, though!” He laughs and lifts Merlin up, making him yelp as he drops him on the couch and settles on top of him. “Merlin and Arthur.”

“Have you really not made the connection before?”

“No!” He genuinely hasn’t. Merlin smiles fondly at him and Arthur aches for him. He leans for a kiss and Merlin hums approvingly when Arthur reaches for the button on his jeans. “Merlin and Arthur,” he mutters again happily against Merlin’s neck.

“I made you king,” Merlin says cheekily. “You’re nothing without me.”

Arthur’s only reply is to palm his cock firmly. It strikes him that maybe he’s right – maybe he _is_ more than a little lost without Merlin, but that's too scary of a thought to ponder on right now when he’s so happy and Merlin’s so hard against him. 

As Merlin gets impatient, Arthur feels the sofa shifting – and not because they’re rocking too hard – and when he catches the golden glimmer of Merlin’s eyes, he decides that being with this man has to be his destiny, indeed. 

 

**3.**

Arthur shivered in anticipation as Merlin’s eyes flashed gold above him. They’d never done this before, but Arthur trusted Merlin completely. He knew this would be good. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Merlin asked as he leaned forward and guided Arthur’s hands above his head. Arthur sighed as warmth wrapped around them and traveled slowly up into his hands and down his arms. Merlin’s magic sometimes had a mind of its own, and that mind was determined to make sure Arthur was as comfortable as possible. There’d be no pins-and-needles tingles for him when they were done.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur answered, he rolling his eyes and arching up to nip as Merlin’s chin. “I’m sure. Just like I was sure when you asked ten minutes ago. Before you undressed me. _As_ you undressed me. Even as you undressed yourself.” He put the edge of his foot against Merlin’s ass and pushed him forward, catching his lips so he could kiss him. Pulling back, he met Merlin’s eyes. “I’m sure, Merlin,” he said again quietly. 

Merlin considered him for a moment, then nodded his head, a determined glint in his eye. “All right then.” Leaning back on Arthur’s thighs, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, Arthur let out a breathy moan to see them blazing gold. 

The warmth at Arthur’s wrists intensified slightly, and he felt his arms extend above his head. Warmth wrapped around his ankles, spreading his legs wide enough for Merlin’s bum to bounce off the mattress as Arthur’s thighs slid out from under him. “Oof,” he grunted with a chuckle. 

“Idiot,” Arthur huffed, an affectionate smile tugging at his lips. Merlin narrowed his eyes and bit the inside of Arthur’s thigh in retaliation. Arthur gasped at the bright flare of pain, then moaned as the warmth of Merlin’s magic engulfed the mark and pleasure radiated up his leg to settle right in his balls.

“Well,” Merlin said, his brows furrowed in a confounded twist.

“What?” Arthur breathed as Merlin rolled his balls in the warmth of his hand.

Merlin huffed a laugh. “I think my magic likes you,” he said wryly. “That’s not my hand, by the way.”

“Huh?” Arthur leaned up as much as his magical bonds would allow -- which turned out to be a lost more than he’d thought -- to look down his body. Merlin sat between his legs, gazing down at Arthur’s cock. Following his gaze, Arthur put an image to what he was feeling, which was his sac undulating and moving as though being rolled and fondled by an expert hand. 

He flopped back on the pillows with a moan. “Well, don’t tell it to stop on my account,” he gasped as something -- Merlin’s hand? Merlin’s magic? Arthur didn’t even _care_ \-- started stroking his half-hard cock into full hardness. 

Merlin huffed and stretched himself out on top of Arthur, burying his face in Arthur’s neck and mouthing at the skin there. His hands wandered across Arthur’s chest, stopping to roll and twist at his nipples until they were hard and aching. Arthur tried to arch into Merlin’s fingers, but his hips were bucking too hard into the warmth around his cock to allow it. 

Seeing Arthur’s predicament, Merlin started kissing down his body, pausing every now and again to worry skin between his teeth. Just as he reached Arthur’s navel, Merlin jerked and gasped, then moaned long and low. 

“Don’t -- Don’t stop,” he gasped out, the wet head of his cock dragging over Arthur’s thigh. 

“I’m -- nnngh -- I’m not doing anything,” Arthur managed to grit out. The warmth fondling his balls drifted down the cleft of his ass and probed tentatively at his hole. Arthur shifted, opening up a bit more to it, and then cried out as that warmth slipped into his ass.

Above him, Merlin thrashed and squirmed until he was back over Arthur, lining their cocks up and whining as his hips bucked. He whimpered and gasped like he did when Arthur fucked him, and Arthur realized that Merlin’s magic wasn’t just pleasuring _Arthur_. 

He could feel Merlin’s magic as it fucked in and out of him, and the rhythm of their hips became frantic and erratic. Merlin reached down and wrapped his hand around them, and that was it for Arthur. He came with a loud cry and vowed they would definitely be doing this again soon.

 

**4.**

 

The first time Merlin appeared suddenly in Arthur’s room, Arthur took it surprisingly well. 

“I’m Arthur.”

“Merlin.”

Arthur rubbed his hands together with glee. “So do I get three wishes?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes so strenuously that he thought he might sprain something. “I’m not a genie you daft sod.”

“But you clearly have magic.”

“And that automatically makes me a genie? Did a pop up out a tiny golden lamp? Am I wearing a skimpy top and ridiculous balloon pants?”

Arthur slowly looked him up and down. “No...though it might be an improvement.”

Merlin squawked and looked down at his outfit. He wore stiff black pants, a shiny silver top, and a red neckerchief. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, I don’t know...everything?” Arthur retorted with a smirk.

Merlin glared at him. 

“And what is this?” Arthur reached out to touch Merlin’s neckerchief and was startled when his hand went right through Merlin’s neck. He sprang away. 

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked his eyes still wide with a combination of fear and curiosity.

Merlin thought back to what he had been doing just before he appeared in this strange, albeit attractive, boy’s room. He had been feeling incredibly frustrated that he had to keep his magic secret. And his Uncle Kilgarrah constantly told him about some great destiny he had. Impatient, he just wanted to know what he was talking about and decided to do something about it himself. “I was looking through my Uncle Kilgarrah’s spell book and I just did a spell to show me what my destiny was.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know how I ended up here.”

A devilish smile slowly formed on Arthur’s face. “Perhaps, I’m your destiny.”

Merlin could feel his cheeks redden. “You wish.”

~*~

It turned out that Arthur was actually right. When Merlin got back, after he reversed the spell, he told his uncle what had happened. After he chastised Merlin for his behavior he told Merlin that Arthur was his destiny - but not yet. Merlin and Arthur were living in two different centuries and weren’t meant to be together in this lifetime. But their souls were bound together, which is why Merlin’s soul could reach out to Arthur with the spell. 

Despite Kilgarrah’s warning, Merlin continued to use the spell. He didn’t want to wait however many lifetimes it would take to be with Arthur. 

It was truly like he had found his other half. He felt complete and happy in a way that he had never felt before. Even though he couldn’t touch Arthur their bond grew stronger every day. 

Merlin had been visiting Arthur for a year when he woke up one morning with a sick feeling in his stomach and when he opened his eyes he wasn’t in his room. Instead he was surrounded by trees. He suddenly heard a scream.

The bottom dropped out of Merlin’s stomach and he raced blindly toward Arthur’s voice. The closer he got the more he could make out that Arthur screamed his name.

“Merlin!” 

He burst through the trees and entered a clearing and raced to the river at the edge of it. Arthur thrashed about in the water. Several times his head fell under the surface.

Merlin watched helplessly. There was nothing he could do. Arthur briefly turned and their eyes locked onto one another’s.

“Merlin.” Arthur said softly before he sank under the water. He didn’t emerge again. 

Merlin got down on his knees and screamed. “Please, Gods please don’t take him from me. What about our destiny!” Tears streamed down his face. “I’ll give up my magic. I’ll do anything you want!”

Suddenly, it was as if everything froze in time. And then something spoke to him in the softest whisper.

~*~

Merlin dragged the Arthur’s nearly lifeless body out of the water. He was easily able to breathe life back into him.

Arthur looked up at him in a daze and blinked slowly. “Merlin? What are you...?” He touched Merlin’s cheek and gasped. “I can touch you!” Arthur hands traced gentle lines all over his face and he stared at him reverently. “How?

“I’ll explain later.” Merlin said and hugged Arthur tightly. 

Arthur’s arms tentatively snaked around his waist. 

Merlin kissed Arthur’s neck and Arthur shuddered. Merlin pressed sweet kisses over and over against Arthur’s neck. 

Arthur groaned and squeezed Merlin tightly. This caused Merlin’s groin to come into contact with his and when Merlin felt the evidence of Arthur’s arousal he couldn’t stop himself and ground down even harder. 

Merlin pulled back and crushed his lips against Arthur’s. He pushed the wet white shirt clinging to Arthur’s body up and frantically touched every inch of skin he could.

It didn’t take long before Arthur stiffened in his arms and groaned loudly in his ear. Merlin pressed his head at Arthur’s neck again and lapped at his skin before he bit down as he came.

 

**5.**

Merlin had always known he was cursed. Living time backwards from everyone else was a confusing a messy experience. 

He was raised by a woman who had already seen him leave, experienced him as a young teen, bathed him and took care of him. She was not his birth mother. He knew that. He never knew his birth parents. 

It was when he was eight that Merlin realised how difficult his curse was. 

At eight he had woken from a bad nightmare and went crying into his mother’s room. Curled beneath her covers he asked her to sing his favourite bedtime song. She stared at him blankly and he realised she had never sang it before. It dawned on him that he would never hear it again. 

By fifteen he knew he would need to leave soon. Each day his mother knew him less and less. As her grey hair turned dark brown and her wrinkles faded, so did her memory of him. Until one day, as he made eggs down in the kitchen and she came at him with a frying pan, Merlin was forced to leave. He sent her a note that day, explaining who he was and thanking her. 

That was the last time he ever saw his mother. 

The streets were a hard place to live. Harder still because he was never been able to make friends. At times he would try, but each day he would need to start anew. Try again and again to form connections with people. 

He told himself that it was stupid to be upset about something that he had never really had. 

He was nineteen when Arthur Pendragon came into his life. 

He was a white-haired old man with crooked teeth. 

“Merlin,” he gasped. “Is that you?”

Merlin had had this experience a few times. Where sometimes important people from his future would recognize him. No one like this. The old man had simply kissed him hard and passionately on the street corner. 

Suddenly Merlin heard whispers around them. Pushing away from the old man he yelled, “Get off me! Who the hell are you?”

It was another year before he ran into Arthur again. A little less white and more grey. He seemed happier than the last time Merlin had seen him. In fact, he did not seem at all surprised to see Merlin at all. 

“I couldn’t find you this morning,” he said and Merlin could not find it in him to ask who he was, or explain that the last time he had seen this man he had left him standing on a street corner. It had been years since he had felt the safety of someone knowing him and loving him. 

He let Arthur take him home and make him dinner. He listened to the jokes about “old friends” he had not met yet. And at the end of the night, he let Arthur with his wrinkled hands take off his clothes and touch him like a precious gift. As each finger breached him, Merlin felt a bit closer to home. 

Afterwards, naked and sated, he finally felt safe. 

“You didn’t know me this morning, did you?” Arthur asked. 

“No,” Merlin admitted. 

“Do I ever see you again?” 

“Just once,” Merlin whispered and pretended not to see this near-stranger cry as they fell asleep. 

For Merlin though, it was just the beginning. It was not until forty-five years later, with ups and downs, that Merlin, now the old man, allowed a blonde-haired youth to thrust into his willing body, that he felt the end coming. 

“It’s as if we have never done this,” Merlin teased, looking at Arthur’s wide and wondrous eyes. 

“We haven’t” Arthur gasped. 

As he slowly lost Arthur Merlin still couldn’t leave, becoming that strange old man down the road. He watched his love become a child and then a babe. He offered to babysit for his parents and holding the newborn Arthur in his arms he whispered, “Just you wait, we’re going to have so much fun.”

Then he slipped back onto the streets, a frail old man, waiting for time to sweep him away.

 

**6.**

"Sir."

Merlin looked up from the map he was studying to see two of his best generals, guns trained on a boy standing between them, and his heart almost stopped.

"We found him lurking around the edge of camp. He's unarmed, and has no Mark."

"My name is Arthur," the boy said. "And I seek refuge."

"Arthur," Merlin repeated, and the Mark on his wrist glowed white hot. He glanced at his generals. "Leave us."

Arthur couldn't have been more than sixteen, but he was only a few inches shorter than Merlin. Blond hair fell across blue eyes, and he had a lean, wiry build and broad shoulders he hadn't quite grown into yet.

"If everyone here uses magic, why do you need guns?"

"They're magic guns. The bullets are spelled not to kill, only to temporarily disable." 

Merlin gestured at Arthur to follow, leading him through an opening at the back of the strategy room and through the labyrinth of large, connected tents until they reached Merlin's personal quarters.

"This is where I sleep. You can stay here for a few days, until we find a place for you. You'll be expected to earn your keep, magic or not, so –"

"You can fuck me."

Merlin gaped. "What?"

"To earn my keep," Arthur clarified, smirking just a little. "I want you to fuck me."

Merlin swallowed. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Arthur stepped into his space, mouth only a hair's breadth away from Merlin's. "I've heard about you. The great Emrys. I've had dreams –"

Merlin surged forward, capturing Arthur's mouth in a hard kiss, licking his way past soft lips to the warmth inside. As soon as the words had left Arthur's mouth he knew he would give in; he always gave in to Arthur.

"On the bed," Merlin breathed out, and Arthur stepped back. He was grinning, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and he was so beautiful Merlin's heart ached.

"Thought that would be more difficult," Arthur said, yanking his shirt off and reaching for the button on his jeans.

Merlin just shook his head, watching as Arthur finished undressing and climbed onto the small bed – face down, ass canted up in the air.

"Fuck," Merlin said, voice coming out strangled. He pulled his clothes off as fast as he could, following Arthur up onto the bed. He felt his eyes flash hotly, and Arthur jerked, whining.

"Next time," Merlin said, sliding two fingers into Arthur's tight, spell-slicked hole, "I'm going to take my time, and I'm going to take you apart until every piece of you remembers me."

He added a third finger, twisting them around and pumping them in and out, pushing deep and rubbing across Arthur's prostate. "Have you ever done this before?"

Arthur shook his head, flush deepening, and Merlin groaned, removing his fingers. "I won't hurt you, but you'll probably be sore for a few days. Okay?"

"Fuck, just get on with it," Arthur said, and it came out more desperate than irritated.

Merlin grinned and lined his cock up with Arthur's hole. He pushed in, the tight heat making him gasp, and Arthur let out a noise like he'd been punched. Merlin knew he should take his time – this Arthur was just a boy, a virgin – but Arthur was groaning and spreading his knees further, begging, so Merlin gave in.

He fucked Arthur hard, gripping his hips and slamming in over and over, Arthur's broken cries of pleasure urging him on. It didn't take long before Arthur was squeezing tight around him, shouting wordlessly as he came, and Merlin fucked him through it, closing his eyes and savoring the feel. He wrapped one arm around Arthur's waist to hold him up, pumping in and out of Arthur's loosened hole as fast as he could, grunting as the pleasure of it made his magic curl warmly through him.

Arthur was whimpering beneath him, Merlin's cock pushing as deep as possible on every in-stroke, and finally, _finally_ , Merlin felt the heat of his impending orgasm begin to pool at the base of his spine. It surged through him, making him cry out, and he pulled Arthur back on his dick as hard as he could, his come pulsing out and into Arthur.

They collapsed, Merlin on top Arthur and still buried deep inside. Arthur didn't seem to mind, reaching for Merlin's hand and curling their fingers together.

"Missed you," Arthur slurred, eyes drifting shut, and Merlin smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

 

**7.**

Merlin refers to the outing of his magic to Arthur as _The Incident_. Everything else is pre-Incident and post-Incident.

He’s beginning to regret his decision..

“I swear Merlin, even with your magic you’re an incompetent _idiot_ ,” Arthur said, coughing and batting away the purple smoke wafting out from the cauldron of goop in the workroom.

“I’m an elemental! I never learned any spells until I came to Camelot!” Merlin protested, his voice starting to take on a whine but dammit, no non-magical person—King or not—is going to call him bad at his one talent.

There then, the spell Merlin had been making to water-proof the Knights’ cloaks during long, rainy hunts was a failure. He sat down on an upturned bucket, disheartened, and waved at the apparatus with a careless gesture. The cauldron lifted itself to the sink and emptied the purple goop into the gutter with a smooth motion, causing Arthur to jump a little.

“How is it that you can command _pots_ to do your bidding, but a simple water-repelling spell baffles you?” 

“I told you,” Merlin said glumly, “I’m a natural. Apparently that means I’m rather bad at _creating_ spells.”

“Well, we can’t have our Court Sorcerer not knowing how to do such basic magic. So you’ll just have to practise, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed, frustrated.

“I think I preferred it when you didn’t know anything.”

***

After that, there were attempts to keep pests away from crops, to aid in a mare’s birthing, and even once, to expand Cook’s fruit pies to twice their original size. They were strangely _useful_ spells that Arthur had requested. Especially the last one that Merlin had dubbed the ‘Embiggen’ spell. That had been delicious. (It’d worked; Merlin’s hungry stomach had probably played a part.)

“Three weeks and you’ve made me practice all these spells,” Merlin mused, taking a sip of his wine. He felt relaxed in the quiet of the evening, sitting at Arthur’s table and sharing supper. When the mantle of magic and kingship and friendly bickering were thrown off, when they were just men—comrades, and friends.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said with a tilt of his head, indicating that Merlin should continue. 

He was strangely beautiful, the dim lights in the room casting shadows on his face, beneath the strong jut of his jaw. His skin looked soft, freshly washed from his bath.

“You’re looking to normalize magic,” Merlin said, glancing away, “Use it to help people, like a tool. Like how a knight uses his sword.”

“Yes.”

“That’s—clever. I’m not sure I could be your Court Sorcerer though,” Merlin said, “I’d much rather be using my magic to remain your manservant, skiving off with the chores.”

Arthur laughed, surprised, and said, “You would.” It sounded fond.

And his face was suddenly so close. His breath hot, and his fingers—

“This is a kind of magic too,” Arthur said, then bent over to kiss him. Just a dry press of lips, and then pulling back. His smile wavered as Merlin remained stiff, shocked.

Merlin’s brain caught up in a rush, his arms flailing as he hugged Arthur to stop him from moving away. 

“No, yes—stay.”

He let go of Arthur, then bent his head to kiss him again. Merlin was nervous and it wasn’t perfect, but they adjusted their mouths, and it got better. A warm, wet exchange of breaths and moisture that was making his blood hum gradually.

They broke apart and made their way over, shedding tunics at the foot of the bed. Merlin’s fingers were clumsy on the laces of his breeches and, frustrated, simply magicked them loose. 

“This is a useful magic too,” Arthur said in a stage whisper, and Merlin stopped to laugh, batting Arthur’s hands away as he helped him unlace his breeches too.

It was better like this, skin to skin, and it was warm, sticky in the summer heat. It was too hot for anything else but a slow rub against each other, and questing fingers over bared skin.

Being together with Arthur like this, Merlin felt grounded. He came with a shudder, silent through his climax.

 

**8.**

_“It is sometimes known as the Come and Go Room, or else as the Room of Requirement… It is a room that a person can only enter when they have real need of it.”_

—

“I’m not sure if we’re aloud to be here…” Merlin says. He has to admit, the place looks perfect; there are a few desks near the back, and the room’s left half is lined with bookshelves full of helpful-looking titles. If there’s a place that can stop the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain from failing Charms, this would be it, but… “This looks like a classroom. We should probably ask permission before we cast spells in here…”

Arthur snorts and gives him a patronizing look. “Are you joking? We don’t need _permission_. This isn’t a classroom; it’s the _Room of Requirement_.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, you’d be a Hufflepuff _and_ an idiot,” says Arthur, grinning impishly. “I was under the impression that Gwen didn’t make friends with idiots.”

“So was I, except then I learnt she was friends with you…”

Arthur laughs. He looks gorgeous when he laughs. “Honestly, I have no idea why Gwen thought it would be a good idea for you to tutor me.”

“Neither do I,” he replies. Except he’s lying, because he knows exactly why Gwen set them up. She’s known about Merlin’s sort-of-not-really crush on Arthur ever since they were third-years, and apparently this is her idea of a “perfect opportunity”. 

So far, Merlin can’t actually complain.

—

One time, he swears the bench they’re sitting on gets smaller, forcing them to sit closer together. Another time, he trips over a wrinkle in the rug that he insists wasn’t there before and is sent sprawling into Arthur’s arms, flustered and embarrassed. It’s as if the room is trying to force them together, which, upon further reflection, it probably is.

(The room can see what he wants, after all.)

—

The Christmas holidays begin several weeks after they start their lessons, and both Merlin and Arthur are staying behind, so here they are, back in the Room of Requirement and struggling over the Water-Making spell. Merlin has just finished describing the charm’s pronunciation for the third time when he notices that Arthur isn’t paying attention. His eyes are fixed on a point above their heads with an unreadable expression on his face. Following his gaze, Merlin spots a leafy sprig suspended from the ceiling, still growing into place before his eyes.

“Mistletoe,” says Arthur simply. They’re already standing close, closer than they should be, and it would be so easy for Merlin to lean in, just a little bit, just to touch—

“We don’t have to, you know,” Merlin says quickly, breaking his own chain of thought. “It’s just a silly tradition.”

It could be his imagination, but he thinks Arthur looks surprised before nodding and returning his attention to the task at hand. They continue on as if nothing almost happened, even though they both know better.

—

The next day, Merlin is watching Arthur pace in front of the wall, his eyes trailing where they shouldn’t. When the door finally appears, they open it, and there’s a bed inside.

Before Merlin can get a handle on his mortification, Arthur speaks up with an excuse of his own. “Oh, um, I’m sorry. I’m tired, so the room must have just thought I needed to sleep…”

Merlin knows this is bullshit. Instead of calling him out on it, Merlin just opens the drawer in the nightstand next to the bed and pulls out the lube and condoms he knows will be there. He sets them on the table pointedly, then waits.

Arthur, thankfully, abandons his efforts to explain the bed away and lunges instead, pressing their lips together and muttering, “….wanted this yesterday.” Merlin doesn’t get a chance to reply before he’s being pushed back onto the bed. There’s a hand on his face and a hand on his trousers, and soon the trousers are gone, along with his pants, and Arthur’s trousers, and Arthur’s pants. Their shirts go missing, too, by which time Arthur is on top of him, the friction between them unbearable. It only takes a few hard strokes on his cock to make Merlin come, Arthur not far behind.

“We didn’t even use the lube, or the condoms…” says Arthur eventually.

Merlin smiles. “There’s always next time, right?”

—

_“Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs, whatever they may be.”_

 

**9.**

Even now, years after Merlin started fighting openly at his side, after Merlin came to his bed all lit in gold and humming with power, a frisson of fear and guilty lust goes through Arthur every time they do this.

Merlin knows. Knows Arthur thirsts for magic, power, shame, punishment, all at once. For love, and that's the one thing he will not ask Merlin for aloud. But Merlin gives it to him all the same, just as he gives him everything else, generous and profligate and easy. Tonight, warm and encircled in candles, he stripped Arthur and rubbed him until the aches of training and then sitting through council for hours were gone, then he stripped himself, still as slender as a willow-withe despite being in the prime of manhood, and rubbed Arthur elsewhere - intimate-deep-inside with oils and kisses and whispered words that Arthur couldn't make out, but which sent shivers down his spine.

And now Arthur is watching Merlin as he moves around the room tidying up as if he's still Arthur's manservant and not his lover, naked and hard and above such a task, as if Arthur isn't waiting with arousal in full bloom. Arthur is on the point of saying something, when Merlin looks over at him, smiles, and twitches his fingers. He sits down just as a warm pressure, hitherto unnoticed inside Arthur's slicked-open hole, starts to move. 

'Oh,' says Arthur, jolting out of his thoughts. _'Oh,_ ohhh, Merlin - what are you -'

'Shhhh,' says Merlin, putting a finger to his lips mischievously and gesturing again. 'Let me work, your Majesty.'

'What is -'

Merlin squeezes like he's testing a ripe peach, and the pressure starts to pulse and Arthur's body arches against it without his permission. Merlin strokes his ankle, one grounding point of physicality. 'It's what you want,' he says. 'What I know you want, even though you never say so.'

'Merlin -' 

Merlin changes something else, so that the pressure increases, a slow, warm burn-kiss against every sensitive place inside Arthur's body, and starts to thrust. 

'Please,' Arthur says, struggling to his elbows so that he can look Merlin in the face. 'Will you just take me yourself? I can't - Merlin, it's you but it's not you, it's too -'

'This is me,' Merlin says, and he slides over Arthur's body, keeping a scant inch between them. They don't touch anywhere, but Arthur is breathing Merlin's air now, feels the warmth of his body everywhere they are near, and inside him still is that feeling, that sensation. 'This is my power, Arthur, inside you, it's all for you - and it wants you the way you want it.' He leans down so that his lips almost touch the shell of Arthur's ear. 'I'm fucking you, Arthur,' he says, whispers, 'with everything I am.' 

And he is, he _is_ \- he's pounding Arthur now and they're not even touching, the perfect rhythm of sex, and it's so good Arthur's delirious with it, thrusting up into the air with heels planted in the mattress. His cock catches against Merlin's and they both start like they've been shocked, and Merlin kneels over Arthur's hips and cradles Arthur's face in his hands and bites his lip red-white-bloody, and it's as if the things Arthur's feeling are mirrored in Merlin's eyes and Arthur can't understand why until Merlin sighs with eyelids fluttering and eases himself down - wet and open the way Arthur was and _how_ and _ohhh_ and Arthur nearly comes right then, with Merlin sinking until he's hilted on Arthur's cock. 

'Let me show you how you make me feel,' Merlin says, and starts to move. 

It's _everything_. It's fire, like liquor and sunshine and the heat on cobblestones at the end of the day, it's summer rain pounding on parched fields when you've given up hope, it's the wildness of Beltane and the glory of the new year and the frozen miracles of Midwinter. Arthur's filled and he's wanted and he's fucking wildly now, between Merlin welcoming around him and pushing into him, magic and flesh indistinguishable, and Merlin is still cupping Arthur's face as if he's precious, staring at him like he cannot believe this is real. 

Arthur comes when Merlin kisses him, like a fairytale, waking up. 

 

**10.**

Arthur isn’t the superstitious type. When Morgana gives him an antique silver ring for his thirtieth birthday, telling him it will bring him luck, he rolls his eyes, but it fits perfectly on his thumb and he likes the way it looks, so he wears it anyway.

It’s coincidence when, the next day, the Turners move into a house they inherited across the street in Arthur’s swanky neighbourhood, a single mum working doubles to make ends meet and her teenaged son, a lanky kid in need of a comb and an attitude adjustment. That Hunith takes an instant liking to Arthur is only natural, even if he lets his eyes linger too long on Merlin’s pale back when he tends the garden, young muscles moving like Arthur thinks they would if he had Merlin bent over his bed, gripping the pillow as he tries not to come too soon, though he would. He’d spill all over the duvets and blush, and Arthur would fuck him deeper, get him hard again and then suck another load out of him, make him fucking beg for it and look into that young face as he swallows.

Arthur’s ring is smooth and delicious as he runs his hand over his prick, fantasising about the neighbour kid again even as he feels sick with shame. He takes up jogging just so he can strip down to his shorts and come back damp and flushed just as Merlin gets home from school, have an innocent chat with the kid while he stretches out, watch the nervous jump of Merlin’s Adam’s apple and the way he shuffles up to his door, hands clumsy with the keys. 

Arthur wouldn’t call it luck when the Turners ask him to feed their cat while they’re away for Christmas, or that he’d just got in a shipment of discreet surveillance equipment for the office, or that Merlin doesn’t password-protect his computer or clear his history.

It’s so fucking easy to find out what Merlin likes (blonds, facials, rimming, creampies, and Arthur comes with Merlin’s dirty shirt bunched up against his nose, imagining painting his pretty lips, watching come ooze out of his arse). When Merlin gets back from holiday, Arthur finds out how he touches himself, how he bites his lip to keep from making sounds his mum might hear while she’s making dinner. How when his mum leaves for work again, he strips down and gets on all fours in his bed, shoving fingers into himself and moaning like a good little slut.

Arthur lives in front of his computer, watching Merlin wank and eat and do his schoolwork. He fantasises about crawling in bed behind Merlin and nuzzling his sleep-warm neck, giving him a lazy hand job and letting the kid press his hips back to feel Arthur hard for him. These are the fantasies that make Arthur feel most ashamed after he comes, the idea that he could actually have a fucking _relationship_ with a sixteen-year-old, that they could cuddle and sleep in the same bed. It makes him ache, makes him hate himself a bit, but three weeks later, when Merlin shouts “Arthur!” as he comes, Arthur starts planning how to get inside that virginal arse.

There’s nothing lucky about Merlin’s terrified scream the next day as Arthur walks by his house. Arthur runs inside to check on him, the door unlocked and Hunith at work. Merlin’s walking out of the bathroom when Arthur finds him, towel wrapped around his pointy hips, skin reddened and damp.

“You screamed,” Arthur says, eyes fixed on Merlin’s tight, pink nipples, so fucking gorgeous this close.

“Spider,” Merlin says, plaintive, and Arthur tells himself it isn’t luck when Merlin slips on the slick tile and falls into Arthur, his towel unravelling, allowing Arthur’s hands to brush over Merlin’s hips as he steadies the kid. He looks, and Merlin’s cock is thick and swollen from the shower. It hardens under his gaze.

“I should go,” Arthur says and doesn’t mean it.

When Merlin blushes and starts apologising, Arthur doesn’t even think. He drops to his knees and sucks Merlin down, makes him come in a matter of seconds. And all through Merlin’s breathless _sorry_ s, Arthur laps at his foreskin, getting him stiff again.

Later, Merlin’s soft lips around Arthur’s thumb make the silver ring look like a good luck charm. Arthur feels fortunate as he digs in his fingers and fills the kid’s hot little hole with come.

**11.**

He was numb, almost naked, and his wrists where the damp rope bit into them had rubbed the skin raw with fiery efficiency. Two thugs stood either side of him, waiting for their boss to turn his back so they could take another quick, painful squeeze of his cock with their beefy hands. His only reaction to their sordid abuse was the quickening of his breath and the sweat on his brow. He would give them no satisfaction.

None of this mattered. He’d found Merlin.

“Identify yourself, slug.”

His captor shoved his weapon into Arthur’s neck with clear intent. He had to fight not to flinch; if his captor detected the glamour Gaius had put on him, he would be dead.

“Merely passing through.”

His captor forced Arthur’s chin higher. “Merely passing through,” he mimicked. “Slug or high born? Make your mind up. Either case, you stumbled onto something you’ll regret. Throw him in with the other.”

“He a magic user?”

“Don’t matter. Morgana’ll pay well for this one.” He stroked Arthur’s face. Arthur bit the inside of his lip lest he bite his captor instead.

The thugs punched him. His knees buckled and he gasped as twin lances of pain shot through his ribs. They threw him into a cell, sending him sprawling. The cell door slammed closed but he barely noticed as agony-laced victory rippled through him. 

Merlin sat a mere foot from him, the dim light from the room’s single torch casting across his beautiful, bright blue eyes.

* * *

He’d watched, his heart pounding with worry as the new prisoner had been interrogated. The old man was a tough one, he thought; others brought here to await transport to the gallows or to, even worse, Queen Morgana’s private dungeon, would’ve given in long before.

There was something different about this one. He frowned, confused, and inched his way to the captive who had fallen unconscious. With a glance over his shoulder to make sure the guards were occupied, he lay a hand on the old man’s torn-up wrists. The bonds fell away. 

He groaned, opened his eyes. “Merlin.”

“I’m not a bird,” he said with a small laugh. “Are you alright?”

The old man pushed himself up so they sat eye-to-eye. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why? Who are you?”

“Arthur. I’ve come to save you.”

“How? Why? I’m a traitor to the queen. I should die.” He couldn’t keep the fear and anger from his voice.

Arthur reached for his hand, covering it with his own. “Because you are important to me. Your name is Merlin.” 

_Merlin?_ “I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “Gaius said it would be like this.”

He startled. “There used to be a King Arthur. But—“

“Merlin, trust me? I can get us out of here, but you must trust me.”

Merlin—the name fit comfortably and was as good as any—looked doubtfully at Arthur-whoever-he-was. “What must I do?”

“This.” Arthur pulled Merlin toward him. Too shocked to protest Merlin let him, but when Arthur’s lips pressed against his, he gasped as the old man melted away. What’d once been a balding man now was a beautiful blond vision. When Arthur pulled him in for another kiss, he didn’t protest.

Arthur pulled the last of his tattered clothes free. Merlin’s quickly followed and they lay naked, face to face, their limbs entwined as they kissed. Arthur’s cock pulsed hard against Merlin’s own, he could feel the slickness of it pressed against his belly. An old, remembered ache filled him and he took Arthur’s cock into his hand, trembling with the rush of half-understood memories. 

“We’ve done this before.”

“Yes.” 

He looked at Arthur and with a cry pushed him onto his back, the need to be filled with Arthur’s pulsing cock overriding any caution that the guards may hear. Arthur steadied him, then slowly speared Merlin, inch by inch of his cock filling Merlin with pleasure-pain. Merlin pulled on Arthur’s cock, bringing it quickly to the brink. As they came at last, the final vestiges of confusion ripped through Merlin and his memories burst free. 

So did his magic.

With a roar he leaped off of Arthur. He flung his hand toward the cell door; it flew open. The guards rushed in and he stopped them in their tracks, turning them to cinder on the spot. 

Merlin turned back to Arthur, his King, his one true love, and held out his hand. 

Arthur took it and smiled. 

 

**12.**

Sometimes Merlin's mind drifts during sex. 

It's not that fucking Arthur is _boring_. The slick grip of Arthur's arse is fucking amazing on his cock and Merlin has had to hold himself back from the edge more than once for fear of accidentally setting the bedclothes on fire.

Merlin wouldn't say that fucking Gwaine is boring either. Gwaine isn't afraid to be absolutely filthy and delights in charming his way into Merlin's brain to draw out his most obscene fantasies sets Merlin off every time. Gwaine is never satisfied if Merlin isn't sobbing while he fucks himself on Gwaine's cock, pushing himself to the limit and still begging for Gwaine to give him more. 

Neither is sex with Leon, Elyan, or Percival. And definitely not when it's all three of them fucking into him at once, Merlin splayed on top, between, underneath them, every one of his holes stretched to the limit. Every time, he thinks he'll break, that it will just be too much and he'll shatter. And then Leon strokes his side and Merlin loses himself in Percival's arms and Elyan's kisses, filled to the point of pain and pleaded for them to never stop.

Sex is never boring for Merlin. Not when it feels like coming home. When he feels like he could die in every moment and never regret it. Not when it's not just sex, but life and magic as well.

Merlin's mind drifts sometimes. 

When he feels Arthur's flesh yield to his as he sleeps inside, slow and firm, and he can _feel_ his magic playing in the peaks and valleys of Arthur's body like a happy child with a new toy. 

Right before he breaks, when he's teetering on the edge, magic rippling through him like waves on the sea, and his can see Gwaine's eyes widen in surprise when the magic starts rippling through him as well.

When Percival's rough hand closes around his throat, sword-calloused and terrifying and _perfect_ , forcing Merlin to pause so that Leon can press inside too. Then it's too much, _please, yes, more_ , will Elyan's pelvis brushing his nose, and the air around him turns sharp and heavy, like the moments before a big storm. 

Those are the moments when Merlin's mind wanders and he can see himself again, young and guileless and innocent, in his favorite clearing near Ealdor. 

His back pressed up against a tree and Will plastered against his front. 

Lips on his neck, chest, cock. 

Fingers fumbling against the rough bark of the tree and gripping tight to Will's hair. 

Will's mouth on him, so _hot_ like nothing he's ever felt, and this pressure inside him like he's about to fly apart at the seams.

His breath ripped from him in a cry of ecstasy that he can't remember ever hearing over the clap of thunder as the sky opens up and drenches them both.

Merlin sees himself trembling and laughing, high for the first time on sex and life and magic, and remembers hoping that it will always be that perfect.

 

**13.**

“Stay out of the woods on Beltane,” was something Arthur's father told him since he was a child running around shoeless with a wooden sword. A rule he insisted upon until the day he died. Even though by that time, it became almost superstition, to stay out of the forests when it was celebrating birth and life.

Until the year he didn’t.

Arthur in theory, had it all planned out. He and his knights would be back to the safety of Camelot’s walls, before sundown of the eve of Beltane. That was until a flash thunderstorm rolled in, causing the battle trained horses, to spook and scatter. 

By the time he got his horse under control, Arthur found himself on the edge of a clearing, lush and green from the spring rains. Even under the current downpour, the meadow looked peaceful.

“You look a little waterlogged, my King.”

Arthur, startled by the voice, pulled his horse around to look for it’s source. 

A young man, with hair a dark as the moonless night, and skin as pale as the moon’s face, stepped out from an oak tree. He had an air of mirth and his rather large ears, reminded Arthur of childhood stories of elves.

“Do not worry Arthur, I am not armed, and not here to harm you,” the young man nodded to Arthur’s sword, where his hand had unconsciously rested.

“You have to forgive me, I seem to be separated from my party.”

“Or it was fated. Arthur of Camelot entering the Goddess meadow, is a propitious omen indeed.”

“Who are you? What are you going on about?”

“Forgive me, I am Merlin, chosen by the Goddess, and you Arthur are here to fulfill your destiny as the vessel of the Young Oak King.”

“Vessel? Oak King? You're talking magic!” Arthur went for his sword again, but found it missing from his side.

“Of course you would want to stand out here in a storm, instead of by a nice toasty fire,” the young man, _Merlin,_ said before tilting his head to the sky. Arthur heard a susurrus of unknown words, before the sky cleared, leaving them in rain soaked grasses under a painted sunset. 

“Listen to me Arthur, you are here because your father made deals with magic, and then tried to break them in bloodshed. He even went as far, as to keep you from the Green Lady and the Oak on Beltane.”

“My father would never-”

“Your very life is because the Goddess created and blessed it. Your father knew the conditions,” Merlin’s face softened, as he walked closer to Arthur, still mounted on his horse, “Arthur, the Goddess is looking for her payment, and she will wait no longer. You become the vessel of the Young Oak King and become handfasted to the May Bride or she will take back the life she gave and Camelot will be prosperous no more.”

“But I am already to be wed. Guinevere and I are set to say our vows at summers end.”

Merlin looked at Arthur, eyes so full of sadness, Arthur truly believed the man, felt sorrow for him. 

“It won’t be that bad. I will try to be a spouse you would be proud of.”

“You?”

“I did say I was the Goddess’s chosen, did I not. I was born from and with magic, for you Arthur. I am the strength to your weakness, and the one created to rule alongside you, bringing peace to all.”

Merlin pointed to the clearing behind Arthur, “We must hurry Arthur, the sun set and the bonfires are set to light our wedding night.”

Arthur sid off his horse, standing next to Merlin, watching the fire lights of the torch procession dance through the meadow.

“Look Merlin, I don't know what -” Merlin silenced Arthur with a kiss. I was not deep and full passion of sweet and sexy. No it was soft, almost chaste, full of promise and future. 

“All you need to know is, tonight you will place your athane in my chalice, and our union will be blessed by Goddess herself. Come my king, time to take your place amidst the legend being written.” Merlin said, with one more kiss on Arthur’s cheek, before pulling him along after him.

_______________________________________

Later that evening, under the bonfires glow, Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes take the golden effulgence of magic, as he came deep within his Husband. On the air hear hear a soft whisper of a woman, _Blessed is the seed, given freely on Beltane._

 

**14.**

“Merlin, what have you _done_?”

Merlin stared from Gaius to the other figure in the room: the copy stared back, as alike as looking in the mirror. Merlin crossed his arms. The copy crossed its arms. Cheeky bugger.

“It’s . . . I didn’t have time to do all of the things Arthur wanted me to do, and I found a spell, and . . . well.”

He never would have done but for the preparations for the upcoming tournament. What with running drills with the knights, polishing Arthur’s armour, mucking the stables, and cleaning the castle, Merlin had been at his wits end when he’d come across the spell in the library.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. 

“This is very dangerous magic.” Gaius frowned. “We have no idea how it will behave.” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. It’s rude.” The copy arched an eyebrow. “I am you, after all,” it said, addressing Merlin. 

“You’re not me.” 

“I am so.” 

“What number am I thinking of?” 

“Forty-three.” 

“Bollocks.”

“I told you.” Vindicated, the copy smiled. 

“I must recommend that you destroy it immediately,” said Gaius. “If Uther discovers this sorcery, we’re all at risk.” 

“Erm.” 

“ _Merlin_?” 

“I can’t get rid of it, not until it’s served its purpose, that’s what the spell said.” 

“Can you please call me by my name?” asked the copy. “I’m starting to get a complex.” 

Merlin groaned.

***

During the next few days, Merlin tried to lock the copy in his room, but the bloody thing kept escaping. It didn’t listen _at all_.

At night it kept him awake, chattering away.

“Move over,” it said. “You’re hogging the whole bed.” 

“It’s my bed.” Merlin refused to budge, not even when the copy swung its leg over his own and cuddled closer. 

“Hmm.” 

“What?” A sweat broke out under Merlin’s arms. 

“I can help with that.” 

“No. That’s not—” 

But the copy pressed against Merlin’s erection. “I know what you like, after all.” 

Before Merlin could protest further, the copy disappeared under the covers and yanked down Merlin’s bottoms, freeing his hard cock. It licked up the shaft slowly, once, twice, and then swallowed down to the root. 

“Ah,” Merlin panted. His hands clenched the bed sheets, caught between needing to force his cock down the warm, wet throat working him over and wanting to push the thing away. But it had been so long since he’d been touched like this, and the mouth was so sweet and . . . he came, cock throbbing.

“Mmm.” The copy lapped the last of the come from Merlin’s slit. “Keeping me around isn’t such a bad idea, is it?”

***

On the day of the tournament, Merlin actually _was_ glad to have the copy around. It fetched and carried while he helped Gaius attend to the wounded back at the castle.

That evening, Merlin trod wearily up to Arthur’s chambers. He prepared a bath and wondered how late Arthur would stay at the feast, thus condemning him to another sleepless night. When the door finally opened, two voices floated in, one distressingly familiar. Merlin dove under the bed. 

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice was warm, slurred from drink. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I’ll help you,” the copy said. “Lift up those arms.” 

Merlin’s heart pounded; from this vantage point, he had a perfect view of Arthur being undressed. 

“Well, well, what have we here?” the copy said. “This rather looks like it needs attending to.” 

“What are you-—ahh,” and then Merlin stared in fascinated horror as the copy swallowed down Arthur’s jutting cock. “Oh gods, yes.” 

It went on and on, and Merlin couldn’t stop himself from wrapping a hand around his own swollen member. Greedy sucking sounds filled the room. Finally, Arthur groaned loudly and held the copy’s head close as he released. 

Merlin came to the sight of Arthur’s cock buried down a throat that looked like his own. 

The next morning, he awoke with a mouth full of dust-bunnies and a hand covered in dried come. As carefully as possible, he crept from under the bed. Arthur looked beautiful in the soft light filtering in from the curtains, and jealous bile rose in Merlin’s throat, adding to the bitter taste in his mouth. But before he could slip away, Arthur stirred.

“Hello,” he said, and smiled, pulling back the covers. 

That evening, after a day spent in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin returned to his own. The copy was gone. 

It had, however, left a note.

_You’re welcome._

 

**15.**

He found the spell tucked away between scroll and shefts of healing lore and perhaps that was the best place for it. For it told of using the heart to heal the wounds of a lifetime and the body to avert the darkness of the future by correcting the mistakes of the past. Merlin had long learned not to take such spells lightly; their promises often coming at too high a price. The spell itself was deceptively simple. _Séo heorte for þá angnesse. þæt feorhhús for þá gúdæda. Séo gástlufu for þá tóweardnesse._ Three lines of incantation and his life could become full of light and happiness or it could become the stuff of nightmares. It was love magic and anything less than true, pure love would cause a backlash of magic and intent wreaking havoc on everyone and everything they knew.

For months Merlin studied the passage, until it haunted his sleep. The words of the spell spilling from his sleeping lips; tingling in the air around him and his sleeping lover their magic waiting to be unleashed.

“Merlin,” Arthur crooned softly. His voice and light touches urging Merlin from his sleep.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?”

“I was going to ask you that,” he said with a touch of playfulness.

Merlin shook his head in confusion. “I’m fine, Arthur. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Arthur ran a finger over Merlin’s cheek. “You were chanting. Something about love and the future, I think.”

“Oh.”

Arthur barely contained his eye roll. “Yes, ‘oh’. Do you want to tell me or should I throw you in the stocks.”

Merlin’s head jerked up. “You wouldn’t dare.”

The young king merely quirked one eye.

Huffing, Merlin let his head fall back against the pillows.

Silence lingered for a few moments before Merlin began to speak.

“It’s a spell. If it works it could change things for the better.”

“What things?” Arthur questioned.

“Everything,” Merlin whispered.

“Gods, Merlin, why don’t you just do it then?”

“Arthur, this wouldn’t just affect you and I. Everyone we know, every life we touched would be affected.”

Now, it was Arthur’s turn to let out a heavy breath. “There’s a catch.”

“Two, actually. If it goes wrong it could destroy everything we know and everything you’ve built.”

“And? You said two things.”

Merlin took a deep breath. “It’s sex magic. It has-”

“-to be between two people truly and completely in love. Devoted.”

“Yes,” he whispered closing his eyes.

The bed shifted and Arthur was lying between his welcoming legs, kissing him as if the world was held in that kiss.

They rocked together, passion building to almost painful crescendos, until need gave way and Arthur slipped inside the one person he loved above all others. Pressing a kiss just under his jaw, Arthur breathed into Merlin’s ear, “Say the words.”

Merlin didn’t argue; he had faith in Arthur, he’d always had faith in him. The words fell softly at first, growing in intensity with the slide of their bodies and their panting breaths. “Séo gástlufu for þá tóweardnesse,” past Merlin’s lips on a scream and the world burned gold.

They came to with an incessant pounding on Arthur’s door.

“Go away,” Arthur groused, still more asleep than awake.

“Arthur,” Morgana’s voice rang through the door, “I need Merlin and I know he’s with you.”

Arthur and Merlin shared a stunned look as images and knowledge flooded their minds. Lance, alive and well, engaged to Gwen, Morgana and Gwaine and their not-so-secret trysts. Merlin’s magic accepted and in the open, he and Morgana helping each other as friends and confidants. Balinor in Ealdor with Hunith. And Uther acknowledging Morgana, and slowly, mistrustfully letting magic back into the land, even if at the moment it only extended to Merlin and Morgana.

Arthur smiled bright enough to out shine the sun. He pressed his forehead to Merlin’s. “We did it.”

~ond hie ælcu álifdeden gesælige á æfter.

Spell translation: Séo heorte for þá angnesse. The heart for the pain/  
þæt feorhhús for þá gúdæda. The body for the past.  
Séo gástlufu for þá tóweardnesse. The love for the future.

 

**16.**

They say there is a witch in the woods.

***

Elena stumbles upon the house by accident. Leaves crackle under her feet as she approaches, and she startles when the door opens and a woman steps out.

Her eyes are piercing, but her smile’s kind, and her clothes are old but clean; her hands white against the faded brown of her skirt. Her long, dark braid hangs over her shoulder, neat and perfect. 

Elena has never been able to get her hair to behave. It’s the colour of wheat, but as messy as a bird’s nest.

***

“I used to be a princess, too” Mithian says in the soft light that filters through the trees, scatters, diffused through the windowpane, making her look younger, a little bit fragile.

Elena gasps, then swallows thickly. “What happened?”

“The inevitable.” Mithian says with a small shrug. “All princesses must go into the woods to become women, it’s how stories go.”

“What about the prince? There’s always a prince.”

“There are no princes, Elena. Only witches.”

The silence’s thick, and Elena shifts on the hardwood bench. “I had a stepmother,” she says. It falls between them like a confession.

Mithian gives her an amused grin and stands up, gathering her skirts around her legs, high on her naked thighs, so she can sit across the bench in front of Elena with a grace that can only be partly taught.

Mithian leans forward with laughter in her eyes and brushes Elena’s lips with hers. “I was the prettiest,” she says. Elena snorts and presses forward.

***

“There’s a black tower to the north,” Elena says. “They say there’s a dark witch living there. They say she can make a man mad, make him see his fears until his will is hers to control. They say she seduced a queen that way.”

Mithian rolls her eyes and wipes her forehead with a corner of her apron, stirring the cauldron over the fire some more. The air’s thick and stuffy, and Elena sees things flicker at the edges of her vision; impossible things.

“They say a lot of rubbish,” Mithian says, her hair sticky and wet on her temples.

Elena just frowns, cuts a mushroom and takes a piece between her fingers, smelling the sweet, earthy aroma of it that makes her want to eat it, stick it to the roof of her mouth with her tongue. Mithian stops her with a firm hand around her wrist. 

There is a witch in the woods they say. She has a poison garden.

“The queen seduced the witch,” Mithian says, her breath even hotter on Elena’s cheek than the air around them, and Elena turns her head into it, closes her lips on Mithian’s jaw, licks the saltiness and sweat.

She eats Mithian’s moans instead, then the wetness between her thighs, sweeter than any mushroom.

***

“I know a water-witch that could heal that for you,” Mithian says, trailing a finger on the long red scar between Elena’s breasts. “She lives by a lake, not two days east from here.”

Elena shakes her head and smiles down at her. Mithian’s chin is against her hipbone and her soft breaths tickle Elena’s bare stomach. “I had a stepmother,” Elena says, because it explains everything. Mithian raises herself up to trace the scar with her tongue. Elena shivers.

“Hearts are powerful,” Mithians says, dragging her tongue higher, up Elena’s neck. She slips a thigh between Elena’s legs and pushes it against her. Everything about Mithian’s skin is soft, her muscles move under Elena’s hands, goosebumps erupt under her fingertips.

Elena rides Mithian’s thigh with rough, urgent moves of her hips, leaving wetness all over it that shimmers slightly in the candlelight. 

She directs Mithian with a trembling hand to put her lips on her breasts, her nipples. Mithian grunts and moans, her mouth full, and Elena arches against her, fingers tight in her hair as Mithian pushes two fingers against Elena’s clit, slick and hard and demanding. 

Elena moves faster, and Mithian grinds down suddenly on Elena’s own leg, pushing hard on her body, crying out against her skin, and the world explodes into light, hot and trembling inside of her.

There are shadows on the ceiling that shift in rhythm to their breathing, into shapes Elena thinks she recognizes, like shadowplays.

The woods are dark outside, and no birds sing.

***

“They say there are two witches in these woods,” Elena says with a smile.

“There are witches in every woods.”

Elena laughs.

 

**17.**

A loud bang rings through the flat, loudly enough to be heard through Arthur’s bedroom door. The man in question looks up from the essay document staring back at him from his computer screen. Frowning, he rises from his chair and treads on bare feet to his bedroom door and opens it. There’s no one there, and the flat is once again quiet.

That’s weird. Merlin usually lets him know when he’s messed something up. And by ‘let know’, Merlin usually shouts at the top of his lungs to tell Arthur he’s not hurt. Which is good, because Merlin is more than a little accident-prone - especially with his wild magic and all.

Carefully, quietly, he walks out into the sitting room and down the hall towards the kitchen. Better check up on the idiot, making sure he’s not in some sort of trouble. Again.

Merlin is indeed in the kitchen, but something’s wrong. A big pan is lying upside down on the floor, obviously dropped as Merlin's tried to remove it from the topmost shelf, where it belongs. That’s not what’s wrong, though. No, it’s that Merlin’s leaning heavily on the counter, standing with his back to Arthur, breathing harshly for no apparent reason. His hands are clenching at the edge so hard his fingers are turning white and his head is bent, making it impossible for Arthur to see his face.

Arthur’s just about to ask what’s wrong when he notices the thick, glowing tendrils of magic and chokes on his own spit. The magic itself isn’t unusual – Merlin uses it often around the flat, to practice – but never for _this_ use... 

The tendrils are swirling around Merlin’s middle, caressing his arse, gently lifting his shirt to expose his back, and Arthur’s pretty sure why Merlin dropped the pan. The magic’s not only under his shirt, but inside his trousers, too... When Merlin lets out a low whining and doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself from jutting his arse out, _onto_ the magic, every ounce of Arthur’s blood seem to rush south. At a loss for what to do, he just stands there, watching Merlin writhe and sweat – his neck is glistening with it – in front of him.

Merlin’s legs are trembling with exertion and just as Arthur’s thinks that he should reach out to steady him, he sinks down to his knees and leans forward onto his elbows on the floor, head still bent, breath escaping him in short puffs. The new position gives Arthur a beautiful view of Merlin’s behind – a behind he has sneaked glances at for _months_. Oh, the dreams he’s had of stroking, licking, fucking that arse. He licks his lips.

Involuntarily, he lets out a weak moan and gets down on his knees, too. Merlin doesn’t react and Arthur’s not sure if he didn’t hear or if he’s too distracted to care that Arthur’s there, right behind him. He takes a firm grip on Merlin’s trousers and starts wriggling them off. Inch by inch, they reveal more and more of that gorgeous, pale skin.

Merlin groans and mumbles something incomprehensible. The magic tendrils expand and Arthur can feel one caressing his cheek as he finally manages to expose Merlin’s arse completely. He swallows audibly, stares at the scene in front of him. The tendrils are not only caressing, but effectively _fucking_ Merlin. 

“Arthur, Arthur,” Merlin moans.

Arthur’s breathless when he answers, “Yeah...” 

He reaches out and traces a finger along the rim of Merlin’s hole, where the magic stretches it out and pulses contentedly. Merlin whines at the touch, but inches back nonetheless.

“ _Arthur..._ ”

The magic is out of control, even Arthur can see that. It’s fucking Merlin slowly and surely, stretching his hole wider with every thrust, while keeping him from coming by twisting and squeezing around the base of his cock. Sweat is running along Merlin’s back, and Arthur can only imagine the desperation he must feel.

But he doesn’t know what to do, except watch. And watch he does, commits it all to memory while stroking the taut skin around the magic.

Merlin shudders with a mixture of pleasure and frustration when the magic makes a particularly nasty thrust.

“Just... help me, Arthur. It’ll stop if... Ah!” He groans, but is sounds strangely similar to a sob. “I can’t... It won’t stop until... _Ah, Ar_ thur! Just, just... fuck me, _now_!”

Oh... Oh! _Well_ , Arthur thinks as he fumbles with his zipper. _Anything to help_.

 

**18.**

Morgana’s lips are red around words of magic on the eleven o’clock news. She was smart. She kept her video just tasteful enough that the news networks can run it uncut, but everyone knows what she’s doing with her eyes gold and her hands teasingly out of frame. She gasps and shifts against silk sheets, and she watches the camera for long enough that everyone knows it isn’t faked.

 _PM’s Daughter in Sexy Sorcery Scandal!_ screams the text scrolling under the video as her mouth moves silently while someone talks over it about the natural immorality of sorcerers.

Merlin clicks his television off the second they mention a comment from the PM’s son. It’s bad enough knowing Morgana just condemned herself to a life of never being taken seriously. Seeing Arthur will only make it worse.

*

Arthur is drunk on his voicemail later. “Merlin … God, I don’t even know why I’m calling. You must have seen.” He breathes in and out. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to say to you, I—fuck. Fuck you for being a sorcerer, fuck you for _leaving me_ —”

It’s the first time he’s heard Arthur’s voice in six months, but he deletes the rest unheard.

Merlin told him because when he was with him he started to wonder if it was true, if he was some sort of insatiable creature meant only for sex. With Arthur inside him, thrusting so deep, taking him apart from the inside, or with Merlin’s mouth wrapped around his cock and moaning for it, it sometimes felt that way. He could get lost in Arthur, and most of him thought it was love but part of him _wondered_ , and then he had to say it, because he knew Arthur would end it when he wasn’t strong enough.

It was a clean break, and Merlin was almost fine, and now there are Morgana’s magic-gold eyes on his television set and Arthur’s voice on his phone, and what the fuck does he do with that?

*

In the morning, Merlin goes to work. It isn’t as if he has another option. It’s not a good job, but it’s better than the jobs most of the sorcerers he knows have, posing for pictures, shooting porn. All waiting tables takes is a shirt with buttons left open and tight trousers and making something small in the back room hover for hours so the customers can see his eyes, groups of giggling women and winking businessmen.

Nobody on the train there can talk about anything but Morgana. Merlin wishes they were talking about the brave speech she made before it became obvious what she was doing, but they’re all clicking their tongues, talking about Uther Pendragon’s shame, and on all the screens they’re showing Morgana’s face in the last gasp of orgasm, over and over till it stops meaning anything, becomes just another pretty sorceress showing them what she can do.

Morgana’s waiting for him in front of the restaurant. “I have a proposition for you,” she says, and Merlin can’t bring himself to object as she leads him away.

*

“We’re going to start a revolution,” Morgana says back at her flat, which the press haven’t found yet. She’s smoking like a chimney and acting like the last time she saw Merlin wasn’t the day he left her brother shouting that he never wanted to see him again.

Merlin can’t bring himself to pretend it will be that easy. He knows better by now. “We?”

“The time has come, Merlin. Nimueh Priest already called me with her support. She’s willing to take a stand, but we need you.”

“And you think it will work?”

It’s not an honest question, more his way of scoffing, but Morgana takes him seriously. “You convinced my brother, Merlin. I have every faith that you can convince the world.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I didn’t convince Arthur of anything.” He thinks of the voicemail he deleted, and of their fight on that last, terrible day, Arthur asking how many people he’s fucked, vicious and hurt.

In answer, Morgana presses a button on her phone, and there’s a terrible recording of Arthur’s voice, probably from the television: “I think magic can do more than what we limit it to, and I refuse to see my sister, and those who like her, limited.”

The recording stops. Merlin knows he’s playing too much of his hand, but he still says “I’m in.”

Morgana smiles.

 

**19.**

“Don’t tell me the Avalon Project is postponed again,” Arthur says when Merlin enters his office. His head is bent over the papers on his desk. “I will _end_ you.”

Merlin smiles, anticipation running hot in his gut. 

The cubicles outside Arthur’s private office are all empty by now, Merlin’s lamp the only one casting the room in a warm, orange glow.

“You can’t come.”

Arthur’s demeanor changes abruptly. His shoulders relax immediately and his mouth (opened in an attempt to say something else) snaps shut with a click. Looking up at Merlin, he straightens in his seat. 

Merlin’s dick twitches in his trousers from that look alone. The way a single sentence from him can flip the switch between boss and… whatever this is, is maddening and crazy and _hot_. 

Stopping in front of Arthur’s desk, he leans over it and says, “You can’t come until I tell you to.”

Arthur swallows noticeably. He sits still in his chair. 

Not that many good things came out of the fact that Merlin accidentally revealed his magic to Arthur. It was mostly drawbacks, really, like being expected to do the job five times faster. But this is one advantage: being able to rid Arthur of his clothes in 0.1 seconds. 

Other advantages include:

1\. Feeling his magic skim over warm skin, raising goose pimples in its wake, all while sitting atop Arthur’s desk. Distance is no matter.  
2\. His hand is free to wrap tightly around his own cock as Arthur shakes under his touch. 

Finding Arthur still loose from this morning, Merlin gently presses his magic inside, watching Arthur grip the armrests as his legs slide further apart. Arthur’s hips push up from the seat making him clench around the impossibly solid presence of magic, his lips parted. 

It’s clear, immediately, when Merlin hits the right spot because Arthur goes rigid for a split second before sinking into the chair, his breath coming in gasps. 

There’s a strangled, “ _Merlin_ ” as Arthur writhes, eyes squeezed shut.

“So good,” Merlin says, voice quiet, as he wraps another tendril of magic around the base of Arthur’s cock, making sure he can’t come. 

He loves seeing Arthur’s cock twitch and harden as the feeling of Merlin nailing the perfect angle over and over makes him incoherent and flushed. His unfairly fit body twists to meet the steady pressure Merlin gives, his fingers whitening around the armrest.

Jerking himself quickly and impatiently, Merlin takes in the way Arthur’s cock strains under the magic, his stomach muscles jumping restlessly. His body is bending and arching under Merlin’s touch – his _control_ – and it’s fucking beautiful. The orgasm slams into Merlin, making him heave for breath as he comes all over the floor, some of it hitting Arthur’s thigh. 

Arthur’s every breath comes out shaky. His head is turned to the side, pressing into the back of the chair as he takes the fucking from Merlin’s magic. When Merlin finds his wits again, Arthur is looking at him wide-eyed. He whines, oversensitive and right on the edge of an orgasm he can’t have. 

“Shh,” Merlin says, sliding off the desk and coming to rest on his knees between Arthur’s spread legs. “Don’t be impatient.”

Biting his lip, Arthur tries to still the movement of his hips, but it only lasts a moment. His brow furrows as the sounds he tries not to make keep slipping past his lips. 

Merlin smiles, running his fingers up Arthur’s trembling thighs. He takes a moment to just look, studying the way Arthur can’t sit still, the way his cock leaks all over his stomach while looking painfully hard and flushed.

“Good,” he says, eventually, taking Arthur in his mouth as a reward for just trying so hard.

There’s a loud, wrecked moan as Arthur’s cock leaks pre-cum on his tongue. It’s so hard and heavy in his mouth, skin smooth and hot, and Merlin feels the thumping pulse in it. He can _taste_ the desperate need to come. 

He hollows his cheeks around it, enveloping it in wet heat that makes Arthur’s fingers twist into his hair with desperate little _uh_ s. 

While pulling his magic away from the base of Arthur’s cock, finally, he doesn’t let the magic stop fucking into him. The effect is instantaneous as Arthur arches up and shouts, his whole body shaking in relief because Merlin let him. 

 

**20.**

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here now. Could be days, weeks. It’s difficult to know how much time has passed when there barely any light and nothing to fill his days, save cold and black and pain.

He has no magic here. It’s as if someone has placed their hand on his throat and squeezed out everything that makes him unique. He’s just as vulnerable as if he had never been born with the legacy of the old religion in his veins.

He isn’t Emrys here, just Merlin, and Merlin can only feel pain. Can only whimper when the black sap of the Mandrake root drips on his face: sticky, cold, thick like tar.

“I’m so sorry for this,” Morgana had said to him, “truly I am, Merlin. I want to help you if you’ll let me.”

He had laughed. But now he almost believes her. She’s known pain like this; known madness and nothing but dark. He almost wants to give in, just so he can tell her he understands, cry on her shoulder.

But then he thinks of Arthur and he remembers why he can’t.

Merlin’s lips are chapped and split. His mouth’s so dry that he’s sure he’d do anything for a cup of water. Morgana had brought him some the first day, but he’d spat it on her boots and said he’d rather die of thirst. 

“So brave, so stupid,” she had said to him. “Does Arthur have any idea how loyal you are, Merlin? Do you think he’d do this for you?”

He doesn’t feel very brave now. He squats behind a pillar and tries to hide; sits on the ground with his knees pulled up and his eyes closed. If they’re closed he can’t see them: Nimueh, Agravaine, Borden. But when he opens them again, just for a second, Will is right in front of him: his wounds seeping black. 

“Why couldn’t you save me?” he asks, his eyes harsh and unforgiving. “It’s so dark here, Merlin, always so dark.”

“I’m sorry, Will. I just couldn’t— I—” Merlin’s voice comes out cracked and raw and Will’s face turns white, glowing. He grabs Merlin, his hands clawing and desperate. His screams turn Merlin’s blood to ice.

Merlin drags himself away, his arse sliding along the filthy ground. His hand catches on something sharp and he flinches, but he doesn’t stop until he’s backed up against the wall. He starts to sob, breathless and pathetic.

“Shhhh.” There are hands on his face, stroking his cheekbones and Merlin can’t look, just clutches his head saying, “you’re not real,” over and over and hoping he’ll go away.

“Idiot. Of course I’m real.”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur laughs, his eyes crinkling and Merlin so wants to believe. If he could just reach out and touch— he stops himself, clutching his hands into fists.

“Merlin.” Arthur leans forward, whispers against Merlin’s mouth, “It’s all right now, I’m here.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, just whimpers when Arthur’s mouth brushes against his.

Arthur’s kisses are insistent, claiming, and Merlin doesn’t resist. He can’t.

“I know what you want,” Arthur says, in between kisses. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

Merlin groans when Arthur’s deft fingers unlace his breeches and wrap around his cock. “Please,” he says, “please just—”

“Just this,” Arthur breathes against Merlin’s neck, “and then I’ll take you out of here.”

Merlin shuts his eyes. It’s easier to pretend that way.

Arthur’s hand is cool on his cock and Merlin just gives in, thrusts his hips forward and drives himself into Arthur’s fist, forward and back while Arthur whispers low and filthy about how beautiful Merlin is, how much Arthur’s wanted this, how long he’s wanted him.

When Merlin comes, he scrapes his fingernails across the ground, watching as they collect dirt and when he looks up to meet Arthur’s eyes they’re green.

“Oh Merlin,” Morgana says, her hand stroking his face, “my brother doesn’t deserve your love, you know. All you have to do is let me take care of you and all of this can stop.”

Merlin lifts his chin and grits his teeth, his hands shaking. “Never.”

“So be it.” Morgana stands, her skirts swirling about her. “Let’s see how long you last in here without my help, shall we? Oh and Merlin?”

Her eyes glow gold and her face changes back to Arthur, mouth upturned and eyes ice-blue. “Please do yourself up, would you? It’s obscene.” 

 

**21.**

"Another gift?" Arthur says, sitting down. He's tired from a busy day on the casino floor, Merlin's show had run long and involved a horrid old woman demanding free tickets for a year because she'd been traumatised by the treatment of pigeons, and all he wants to do is curl up around something. Preferably Merlin, but as Merlin's shown about as much interest in that as his whiskey has, Arthur chooses the whiskey. "And what does today's say?"

Merlin glares at the card. It's innocuous enough from the outside, but as it's the third of these such packages, Arthur knows he's wary. When he finally opens it, the title lines of Heart's ['Magic Man'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDwKuYWVMvo) come bursting forth.

Merlin shuts it with a groan and throws it down on the table. It spins a couple times on one corner, then falls elegantly onto its back. "You've got to be kidding me."

Arthur snorts, and picks up the card, opening and shutting it again. "No, Merlin, I don't think they are, considering." _Considering that card was a proper pain in the arse to get made._ He inclines his chin at Merlin's hands. "What's in the box? Cufflinks again? Another thousand-pound pen?"

Merlin's already opened it. Arthur tries not to think about how he's thoughtlessly wound the decorative ribbon round his fingers in an intricate knot. "…it appears to be… cards."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "That's rather droll."

But Merlin's opened the case— _Crystal, thanks very much_ —and fanned the cards out easily, rippling through them with dawning awe on his face. "With us on them. Arthur, look, you're the King and Morgana's the Queen and Gwaine's the Jack and—" He huffs out a laugh. "And of course I am the Joker. Lovely."

"Naturally."

"Arthur, these cards—" He looks up at Arthur, and for a moment Arthur's sure the game's over, but his gaze skates away, looking at the crowd behind the one-way glass. "Who on earth…"

Arthur shrugs, then picks up the tumbler once more. Disappointment is a familiar bitter flare in his belly.

\---

It's a pretty standard trick, a show opener, a getting-back-to-the-roots-of-magic sort of thing, so why Merlin's left it to the last tonight, Arthur has no idea. He tunes it out, working through the week's numbers on his tablet, and is completely unprepared for hearing his own name through the speakers. He looks up, blinking.

Merlin's standing on stage, huge ears and huge grin and all, holding up the trump card from the trick. Arthur squints, then flicks his gaze to the screen where a larger version of Merlin is projected, and his eyes widen: It's the same card he'd given Merlin the day previous, only instead of Merlin as the Joker, Arthur sees his own face.

Gobsmacked, he turns back to Merlin onstage, who is clapping his hands and exhorting the crowd to do the same. "Everybody, let's get the man of the house up here, shall we? Pendragon Casino would be nothing without the Pendragon himself, am I right?"

Arthur purses his lips, but his casino is his life, and he can't resist Merlin's smile on a good day, and once he reaches the stage amidst Merlin's closing patter, Merlin's looking at him fondly, like Arthur's a slow child and the best surprise party ever, at the same time, and Arthur's so _confused_ —

As the curtain drops in front of them, Arthur opens his mouth, but Merlin's there first, his hands curled in Arthur's clothing. He presses his lips to Arthur's once. "You, my dear Arthur, are the Fool."

Arthur feels hope unfurl in his belly, spread through his limbs like whiskey. "Apparently." And he leans in and captures Merlin's lips, for real this time.

Better than whiskey.

"Wanker," he says eventually, slightly out of breath. "You let me get through three gifts."

Merlin grins, he can feel it. "I liked them." Then he feels Merlin's hands in his pants, and _oh God they really are magic hands_ , because Arthur's knees are embarrassingly weak astoundingly quickly. "All you had to do was ask."

Arthur bites at Merlin's jaw, fumbling much less gracefully with reciprocating, relieved to find a groove once he actually has his palm on Merlin's gratifyingly aroused cock. And it all escalates quickly, and it's bloody _glorious_ , sharp and perfect and in their pants like teenagers.

He noses into a kiss as they come down. "You could've asked, too, you know."

"And miss the card with 'Magic Man' in? Never."

"Wank. Er."

"Magic. Man."

And Arthur finds he agrees.

 

**22.**

Arthur knows magic. 

He knows it like he knows the rise and fall of his own breathing, like he knows the pattern of lines on the palm of his hand, like he knows the weight of his sword at his hip. He can almost remember a time when he was very young and the knowledge was new and strange, a time when he thought that perhaps there was some fine, shining gold thread of magic woven into his very being along with his breath and his body's strength.

By the time he meets Merlin, Arthur has long chosen to forget. 

~

"You were gone. For a suspiciously long period of time."

Merlin leans against the door to Arthur's chambers and stares down at his feet. His jacket and boots are damp, as is the dark hair that curls around his ears. "I tried to tell you. I --"

Arthur stands and winces; he's still woozy with fever and pain from the fight with the Questing Beast, but he wants to get to Merlin before he decides to give anymore oddly heartfelt speeches. "If you ever need to leave again, you come to me first."

Merlin frowns a bit. He swallows and nods, and looks about ready to say something.

So Arthur kisses him -- really kisses him, presses his mouth to Merlin's and slowly parts his lips until he can taste the warmth of Merlin's tongue against his own. Merlin resists for a half-second, then yields as if he knew that this is what would happen when he returned, that Arthur would kiss him until they both ran out of breath. 

"Of course, I'd really rather you not leave at all," Arthur says.

"I'll see what I can do about that." Merlin smiles, and looks about to say something else again, and then he just laugh. 

And Arthur can't help but laugh, too, not with the way sudden happiness and gratitude bubbles up in his chest. His shoulder hurts and he feels a bit dizzy-headed, but he's somehow grateful for all that, too, when Merlin tumbles him back onto the bed. He wants to feel and remember everything from this moment -- the ache in his shoulder and the press of Merlin's chest against his, the way Merlin's hands slide up under his tunic to pull it off so much more effectively than usual. 

He thinks he'll always remember the first touch of Merlin's lips on his chest, kissing over the scars he's collected, and the wet trail he licks down to Arthur's stomach. It tickles when Merlin laughs against his skin, and Arthur's breath catches sharply when Merlin mouths over his erection. Arthur comes too fast the first time, and the first time he jacks Merlin off, he's unsteady and eager. But Merlin smiles and sighs and kisses him so many times over that Arthur remembers those moments so much better than the fumbling ones. 

Merlin stays that night and so many nights after that Arthur starts to forget the nights that came before.

~

It's never as good as that first, long summer, though. Something changes between the two of them, something fine and close that Arthur suspects they both hold close to their hearts, and that he fears wouldn't have come between them if he'd let Merlin say what he wanted that first night they had together. 

~

In the end, Arthur knows two things:

First, that he is dying, and that he cannot bear that Merlin has to watch his moment of dying stretch out over so many days. 

Second, that he could have harmed Merlin, not truly, not for a magic that now he can remember threading through his own life from his earliest days. 

 

**23.**

"I know these caves," Leon says, flat, exhausted. "We have them now."

"Merlin is definitely with them." Elyan comes up to join them on the rocky hillside overlooking the caves where they had cornered the Druids. 

Arthur blinks, but manages to hold back any other reactions when Elyan drags Gwaine into view, the rogue knight grinning with all his teeth like a particularly muddy, unfriendly skull. "We'll catch up with them before sunset," he tells Gwaine, for want of anything else to say.

Gwaine doesn't answer at first, cracks his neck, brushes some drier bits off himself. Scratches the back of his head. "One more day," he says at last. "They'll be out of Camelot. Let them go."

"We don't want to hurt anyone." Arthur closes his eyes, exhales. "My father is dead. The Purge is over. I've lifted the ban on magic. I want... I just want to let him know it's safe to come home."

Gwaine scratches the back of his head again—the drying mud had to be itching, especially in the late afternoon sun. His hand reappears with a dagger, and Elyan and Leon tackle him immediately. Arthur motions to them to let him up, without the blade. Gwaine bares his teeth at them all, losing even the pretense of a smile.

It's hopeless. He let things go too far, took too long to act. Arthur turns back to watch the distant mouth of the caves. A tiny form moves below. Perhaps it's Merlin; perhaps not. "Let him go," he tells Elyan and Leon without looking at Gwaine. Elyan sucks in a breath to protest, but Leon obeys immediately.

"They're not defenseless even during the day," Gwaine says, not moving. "We didn't kill Lancelot and Percival."

Of course they didn't. More traitors. Arthur is happy for it, nonetheless. "Tell Merlin I won't follow them anymore." It earns him a funny look from all three; Arthur wonders what he looks like. "Leon, Elyan. Tell the men to stop and make camp." 

Gwaine doesn't go until he's seen them set up Arthur's command tent and the sun dips too low for them to march to the cave before dark.

\-----

He's working on the grain reports he brought along when the candle flickers and goes out in a sudden gust. He puts down his pen and rises from his chair to the soft beat of wings outside his tent. All the encampment is dark and silent—too silent. 

"Merlin?" he asks, hates how hopeful he sounds when he should be worried about his men, about himself, even.

Even as his eyes adjust to the dark, black velvety fur brushes past his hand, and he catches on immediately, grabs the sinewy panther's body with both hands; laughs when a bristly muzzle rubs against his cheek and neck like an affectionate oversized cat. He falls to his knees on the threadbare rug and hugs the bastet tight, feels feathery wings fold around his back.

"Clever," he says, chokes a little. "Cursing them so they can defend themselves." The hard muscles shift under his hands, the dense fur melts away and becomes smooth skin. Arthur buries his nose in Merlin's neck, breathes in the smell of human beneath the animal musk. 

"Arthur... Gwaine told me—I heard about Uther."

He kisses Merlin to stop the words, clasps him close and hard, as though he could force them into one body and let them be forever joined that way, and Merlin clutches him just as fiercely. They have to stop for air, and Merlin starts tugging at his clothes, clumsier than he had been as Arthur's manservant, though that might have been because Arthur couldn't let go, trying to press as much of himself to Merlin's warm naked body as fast as Merlin could strip him.

Finally, Merlin pushes him back onto the rug and stops, sitting on his thighs. The night air is cold on his skin, and he shivers. "I'm sorry. I never wanted you to have to choose..."

He rests his hands on Merlin's hips, rubbing his thumbs in the hollows. "I did what was right. Take the Druids somewhere safe. I know they have no reason to trust me."

Framing Arthur's face with his hands, Merlin bends forward to kiss him again, tenderly, and rocks his hips against Arthur's, letting their cocks slide together. "I'll come back, I promise."

Arthur reaches down to fist them both; he can't tell who groans and comes first, but they stay together until dawn.

 

**24.**

First dates never went well for Arthur. He couldn’t recall the last time he'd had a second one. 

But this one had gone so splendid he'd already decided to ask for another date. Right after he makes Merlin come for the second time tonight.

"Fuck-fuck..." Merlin tugged at Arthur's hair. "I'm gonna..." 

Arthur really wanted to shock and impress Merlin by shallowing it all, but he was smart. They hadn't even made it past the sofa, let alone talked about safe sex. 

And sitting back, using his hand, gave him the opportunity to see Merlin's face when he came, eyes wide, biting his lip, like he's surprised it was happening to him.

While Merlin cleaned himself with the t-shirt Arthur had offered him, Arthur decided to ask, so Merlin would know he had serious intentions and it wasn't just sex.

"Was wondering if you wanted to, if you don't have other plans, spend tomorrow together - lunch or -"

"Oh, I would - really, but I have plans. I-"

"It's alright. I understand."

"Don't pout." He nibbled at Arthur's bottom lip."I want to. But I volunteer at a hospital. The kids - they expect me. I can't let them down. Sunday, maybe?"

"Yeah. Sunday." Arthur felt silly for having felt disappointed a moment ago. "What'd you do at hospital?

"Don't laugh."

"I won't. Well, unless you're a clown."

"No!" Merlin scrunched up his face. "Creepy bastards! No. I'm a magician."

"A wh-what?"

"A magician. You know, rabbits, doves, coins out of ears. Though, I'm much more talented than that - the kids love it. Eat it up. And... what's wrong?"

"Nothing." 

"No... you seem angry with me."

"I'm not. I simply recalled that I'd made other plans and you should go."

"What the fuckin' bloody hell?"

"Alright. I'll be honest." Arthur had really liked Merlin. _Damn._ "I'm not going to get involved with a con artist."

"Wha'?"

"Con artist. A fake. A trickster. Magic isn't real."

"Oh, Arthur."

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not the one lying to children."

Merlin sighed. "They don't mind. They think it's fun."

"It's not fun!" Arthur heard his own voice, a little too loud, and lowered it. "They believe in something and then they find out it's not real, that you've been lied to for so long."

"Who told _you_ magic wasn't real?"

"My father."

"How old were you?"

Arthur stood up and towered over Merlin, still sitting there looking sad. "This isn't therapy. It doesn't matter. Magic doesn't exist. You're a liar. Leave."

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not leaving." Merlin stood up, facing Arthur, defiant. "I'm not a liar. Magic is real."

"Fuck." Arthur threw his hands in the air. "You're a nutter! Brilliant. Fucking brilliant."

"Arthur... look." Merlin held out the palm of his hands where a ball of bluish light had appeared. "It's real and I have it."

It had to be a trick. Arthur grabbed Merlin's wrist, the light brightened. He twisted and turned his arm. He waved his hand around Merlin's body, looking for the source.

"Look at me," Merlin whispered. 

Arthur looked into a pair of gold eyes. He gasped and walked backwards until his back hit a table. "This is... insane. It can't be."

The light disappeared. Smiling, Merlin ran his hand through his hair. The strands that fell back into place were a bright pink. "The kids love that one." He shook his head and his gorgeous black hair returned.

Memories came rushing back to Arthur. "When I was a kid, I loved magic. I believed with all my heart it existed. Then my father - he thought kids should know what the real world has in store for them. And he made me learn how all the tricks were done, the illusions. So I knew. But now... there's you." 

Merlin had stepped closer while Arthur spoke. With a finger, he raised Arthur's chin until their eyes met. "And magic."

He stroked Merlin's cheek. "Are you real, Merlin?"

"I'm real." 

"This is..." Arthur laughed, threw his head back and let his happiness out. "You're not crazy. But this is crazy. Magic's real. I have so many questions. What can you do? When did you find out? Have you... wait... why did you tell me? You just met me."

Merlin kissed both of Arthur's hands before pressing them up against his chest. "Because the last time I told you at the very end. This time I wanted you to know the truth from the beginning."


	6. Group B (No Warnings)

**25.**

Arthur’s shoulders hunched as his mother opened the front door. 

“Found your boy here throwing eggs at my house,” Balinor said, handing Arthur off by his collar. 

Ygraine’s face transformed from polite confusion to outrage. “He did _what_?”

“My lawn needs mowing. I’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning, Mr. Pendragon?” Balinor said, lifting one intense eyebrow. 

“Not a chance in he—”

“How does seven sound?” Ygraine interrupted, covering Arthur’s mouth. 

“Sounds just fine, Ms. DuBois,” Balinor smiled. 

“It’s Pendragon!” Arthur shouted after his broad, retreating back. Ygraine swatted him through the front door.

\---

“This has to stop, Arthur.” Ygraine rubbed at her forehead, weary. Arthur dropped his gaze to his feet.

“Little magic freak,” he muttered. 

“Excuse me?” Ygraine’s head snapped up. “What did you just say?” 

“He’s a freak!” Arthur said, too loud, too forceful. Ygraine reared back like she’d been slapped. And then Nimueh padded into the living room. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Father says magic corrupts.” 

Nimueh grinned, like she found him amusing. “Your father is biased, Arthur. Merlin’s done nothing to warrant your abuse.” 

“Yeah, unlike some people,” Arthur said. 

“Arthur James Pendragon!” Ygraine’s voice was severe. “That’s enough! You are grounded, young man.” 

“Fine!” Arthur said, not waiting to hear how long his sentence would last. His door was old and heavy and he slammed it hard enough to rattle the casing because his father wasn’t there to punish him for it anymore.

\---

He snuck out around midnight to raid the kitchen and then the library for something to read during his internment.

He snagged Sagan and Hitchens and Hawking, picturing his father’s approving smile. 

And then he saw the new book on Nimueh’s desk, still in plastic. He took that too, out of spite.

\---

He flicked on the lamp by his bed and slipped the book from its cellophane sleeve.

“ _The Book of Love_ ,” he read, snorting. Flipping it open to a random spot, he found an abstract picture of a mouth on the left-facing page that mirrored itself on the right. Arthur squinted at the etchings, then recoiled as they began to develop color and shape. The book twitched, leaping from his hands to scuttle down his body. 

He gasped, panicking, when two pairs of lips found his limp cock and balls and began to mouth over them. 

“Stop, stop!” he whispered, frantic, but the book had already sucked his cock in and he didn’t want to risk tugging it off. 

Then he realised the book had _sucked his cock in_ , was pulling at him through the fabric of his pants. His mouth fell open and he dropped back to his elbows, stiffening so fast it made him dizzy. The second mouth found his balls and tongued them firmly. 

“Oh, Christ,” Arthur said, and came in his shorts.

\---

He assumed he was safe when the book sat inert while he tugged off his soiled pants, but it flapped right back onto his crotch the minute his cock popped free.

Arthur stilled, breath shuddering out of him as the mouths suckled and hummed. 

He lasted longer the second go, letting his head drop back and rocking his hips up, the dry smell of old paper blending with his spunk while he bit back high, thin noises. 

He fucked out his second load with his hand pressed hard to the book’s spine. Arthur was pretty sure he heard it moan.

\---

The book fluttered to a new page. What Arthur saw made him feel faint.

He wondered what Hawking would think about the quantum mechanics involved in bending his dick into some separate dimension that was not, in fact, through the backside of the book. 

Arthur humped the tight little snatch he’d been given against the corner of his bed, hands clenching creases in the dampening pages.

\---

Nimueh found him passed out in bed the next morning. “Arthur,” she sighed, like the beginning of a conversation she really didn’t want to have.

Arthur’s knee accidentally nudged the book under his sheets, knocking it to the ground with a wet smack. 

Nimueh’s eyes widened. Arthur froze. 

“Um,” he said. 

“Did you—?” 

“Er. Well...”

“Arthur. That was a gift for Gaius and Alice’s wedding.” 

“Nimueh?” Ygraine called from down the hall. Arthur and Nimueh’s shoulders hunched at the same time, instinctively. 

They looked at each other. 

“I won’t tell her if you won’t,” Arthur said. 

Nimueh’s expression was shrewd. “Dishes. For a _month_. No complaints.”

“Alright.” Arthur nodded, wary. 

“Little pervert.” Nimueh smirked. 

Arthur’s answering grin surprised them both.

 

**26.**

Being outside Camelot’s walls with Lancelot is true freedom. Merlin gathers Gaius’ supplies and shows Lancelot how he can make colours ripple through the leaves and create flocks of birds from dirt. Lancelot always watches with interest. His eyes are dark, gentle and draw Merlin in. 

He removes Lancelot’s chain mail with care, knows how precious it is to him. As Lancelot strips him quickly, Merlin presses his pale form against him and marvels at how the knight’s naked body seems so much more powerful than when it’s layered with armour.

Lancelot let’s himself get dragged down to the forest floor. Merlin kisses him hard, pushes his hands through Lancelot’s hair, rakes his fingernails down his back. Lancelot groans into Merlin’s mouth, arches into his touch, grinds their erections together when Merlin wraps his legs around Lancelot’s hips. Lancelot’s fingers probe inside him, stretch him open and Merlin gasps for more as he grips Lancelot tightly and ruts desperately against him. 

Lancelot pulls three fingers from inside him and Merlin surges forward. Lancelot ends up on his back and Merlin straddles his hips.

Merlin breathes hard. Lancelot’s hands slide down his body until one rests above his knee, the other takes Merlin’s clammy palm.

“ _Merlin-_ ”

Merlin nods, grasps the shaft of Lancelot’s cock and lowers himself onto it. Merlin moans, lets his eyes slide shut and his head roll back. He feels his erection against his stomach and aches for Lancelot to take it in his mouth. The thought makes him groan and shudder as he slides himself down, steadily takes Lancelot inside him and it hurts but _so good_.

“Lancelot,” he rocks his hips, feels the pulsing, twisting heat in his cock which makes him groan and arch his back. “ _Oh-_ please, _Lancelot_!”

A rhythm is quickly established. When Merlin moves down, Lancelot pushes his hips up, drives inside Merlin and his tight hot flesh. They’re far enough from Camelot for Merlin to cry Lancelot’s name, moan loudly and writhe as he rides his cock. When his gaze flickers down, he sees Lancelot’s dark eyes watch him, wanting and adoring.

Lancelot thrusts deep inside him, hits something which makes Merlin arch and yell and curl his toes into the dry leaves of the forest floor. He lets his magic slip and it mimics the feeling of Lancelot’s tongue up and down his cock, his touch over his body, hot panting breath against his neck and even what Merlin knows to be the feeling of Lancelot’s tongue in his mouth.

When he reaches climax, Merlin throws his head back and a deep, low roar rips from his throat as so much pleasure crashes through him. His magic tears from him. The trees around him quake, thunder rumbles from the blue sky and he moans happily when he feels his magic ripple against his ejaculating cock.

He looks down and Lancelot is still. His eyes blaze with a golden fire. A gasp catches painfully in Merlin’s throat as his senses crash cold back into him. He claws back his magic and watches it vanish from Lancelot’s eyes, leaving them hazy and unfocused.

His whole body tingles. There’s the dull ache of Lancelot still inside him, the creeping trickle of warm cum down his thigh and his own over his stomach. 

“Lancelot?” Merlin reaches to press a hand against Lancelot’s cheek. The touch seems to focus Lancelot and he blinks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it would do that.”

“I’m okay,” Lancelot still sounds a little distant, but sits up and holds Merlin’s hand against his face.

Merlin swallows hard and asks; “did it hurt.” 

“No. But I wasn’t here anymore. I could see…” Lancelot frowns lightly, “it was like water. And I was part of it. In a way. It’s hard to explain.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” Merlin promises, reaches with his free hand to push back the hair stuck to Lancelot’s forehead. He eases himself free, slides his arms around Lancelot’s shoulders and leans forward to rest their foreheads together.

“It’s alright,” Lancelot tells him in a soft whisper, pulls Merlin’s body against his.

Lancelot kisses him, understanding and loving, and Merlin lets the control of his magic loosen. It envelopes them in a warm glow, caresses his skin as gently as Lancelot’s hands do. Merlin’s eyes slide shut and he smiles at the soft trace of Lancelot’s tongue against his lips and how protected yet powerful he feels within his knight’s embrace.

 

**27.**

"Magic can feel so good, if you let it," Mordred said, sending out a small tendril of magic to envelope Arthur.

Arthur swayed for a moment, then blinked and stood straighter. "It's still outlawed in Camelot. I know you were raised a druid, but that doesn't mean you can use magic here."

"Of course, sire," Mordred responded, and he put more power into the spell, let it wash over Arthur and settle in his mind.

This time Arthur blinked, fought to keep his eyes open, but he was _so_ susceptible to magic. The magic that flowed in Arthur's blood, the magic that gave him life, wanted to be used.

"Come on, Arthur. Sit here, on my bed." Mordred motioned next to him, and Arthur gave him a blank stare as did as he was asked.

"Magic is-- magic is wrong," Arthur mumbled. 

Mordred caressed Arthur's cheek and briefly pressed their lips together. "Shh, no, no it isn't. Magic makes you feel good." 

Words would never get through to Arthur though, Mordred knew that. He had to make Arthur truly feel the magic. "Tell me what you like. What will give you the most pleasure?"

Arthur's mouth opened, closed, and opened again, like he was struggling not to say anything. Mordred ghosted his fingers across Arthur's collar. "It's all right. You can trust me."

He felt Arthur relax under his touch, and took a slight thrill when Arthur said, voice low and forced, "Suck... cock..."

"You want me to suck your cock?" Mordred could easily do that. He used his magic to undo the laces on Arthur's breeches, and already had Arthur's cock pulled out when Arthur shook his head.

"No... want to suck..."

Oh, that was even better. Mordred wondered how deep Arthur had buried that desire, and how much he had wanted to tell somebody. "Have you ever done it before?"

Arthur shook his head. "Couldn't. A prince doesn't..."

"But a king can do anything he wants." Mordred curled his fingers into Arthur's hair and pushed Arthur's head down, using his other hand to pull his own cock free. 

He didn't have to coax Arthur further. Now that the desire was out in the open, Arthur was more than eager to open his mouth and wrap his lips around Mordred's dick. Arthur was sloppy, obviously unpracticed, but he was the king of Camelot and Mordred reveled in the fact that nobody else had ever had the king like this.

"You're doing really well," Mordred said, pushing down on Arthur's skull and thrusting up a bit more, making Arthur choke just for a second. That didn't deter Arthur in the least; in fact, it seemed to spur him on. Arthur started moaning and grinding his hips against the bed to get some friction of his own.

It was getting harder to think beyond the pleasure, but Mordred managed to send his magic through Arthur's body again, all the sensations he was feeling reflected back on Arthur. 

Arthur stuttered, lost his rhythm, and pulled away, his face flushed red and his body writhing.

"No, keep going." Mordred pushed his cock against Arthur's lips. "Drink every last drop of me. You'll like it."

"Y-yes." Arthur opened his mouth again and Mordred thrust inside, this time keeping Arthur in place with a firmer grip. The gasps and moans Arthur made reverberated through him, and then when Arthur's tongue pressed harder against the tip Mordred let go completely, poured himself into Arthur.

Mordred collapsed onto his back and watched as Arthur began stroking himself. He sent out magic to speed the process, and soon Arthur was spilling into his own hands.

"You see? Magic isn't bad at all."

Arthur stared at him blankly.

"You can ask Em-- Merlin. You can ask Merlin next time, whether Camelot needs magic or not."

Arthur's expression cleared slightly, and he smiled. "Merlin. I like Merlin."

Yes, it would be easier for Emrys to influence Arthur. Mordred used a spell to clean them both, and then set Arthur to sleep. Arthur wouldn't remember the event, but he'd remember the feelings. And all Emrys had to do now was hint that magic could have a place in Camelot.

 

**28.**

His moans seemed unnaturally loud as rocked onto his toes with each thrust. Merlin flexed his spine, loving the scratch of Arthur’s zipper as he drove back onto Arthur’s cock, belt buckles jangling to the pounding rhythm Arthur rode him with. 

In the split-second between stepping inside and being shoved into the wall, Arthur ordering him to spell his hands to the wall, Merlin had muttered thanks for whatever Uther had done at dinner, to which Merlin was never invited. Arthur often came home angry, with a headache from grinding his teeth and biting his tongue, finding release in Merlin’s broken pleas encouraging Arthur to do as he liked.

But today was different; there was fury in how Arthur curled his fingers within Merlin, the rigidity to his body after he came, his grunts those of a man not pleasured but wracked and ruined trying to forget himself in the body of his lover. Merlin’s eye’s blazed, softening their floor-wards slump, Arthur pulling Merlin close and pillowing heads on discarded clothing.

“He’s, uh,” Arthur cleared his throat, staring resolutely at the ceiling, “getting married.” Arthur’s hand moved to Merlin’s hair, the gesture enough to stop Merlin’s surprised questions. 

“She was wearing,” a sob was harshly cut off, “my mother’s jewellery.”

Merlin grit his teeth as Arthur continued, heart breaking at the tremble in Arthur’s massive frame and _knowing_ there was nothing he could do; Uther was an insensitive bastard. 

And Merlin knew that this was the moment to tell Arthur of his research. He’d been waiting, ensuring that this gift was achievable, fearing wounding the little boy Arthur hid so deep inside any further.

Merlin had stumbled through his magical confession after three months of dating. Arthur winced whenever thinking back to that night; he’d never been more Uther’s son as he stormed from Merlin’s apartment, not returning for days. He’d be lying if he said his first thought wasn’t the wish to see his mother, even momentarily. But he’d figured wishes were for genies.  
Until now.

Merlin’s hands cradled Arthur’s face as he explained the spell which allowed for the spirit of a loved one to cross, very shortly, back into the mortal world just once.

*** ***

Arthur felt light-headed and nauseous as the ritual began, pacing as he reprimanded himself for getting hopeful; this likely wouldn’t work, he’d be more disappointed than eve-

There was no crack of lightening or frigid wind, just a chiming bell and a sweet scent pervading the room; Arthur had smelt that perfume once before, as a small boy, citrus scent reminding Arthur of the lemon cakes cook baked. He’d found the bottle atop his father’s dresser. He’d been terrified when Uther stormed in and snatched it away. He’d been unable to sit down that night and the next day, the bottle was gone. 

It smelt sweeter on his mother’s skin, clinging to the strands of radiant hair, tendrils brushing the delicate wings of her collarbones. She looked more fragile than his sole picture suggested, indescribably beautiful, and he was terrified to touch her, that she’d be nothing more than smokes and mirrors.

“Arthur,” Ygraine said voice soft, smiling as she reached for the little boy she didn’t live to hold, the man that stood before her. “My son.” Her blue eyes washed with tears as Arthur stumbled into her embrace, hands fisted in her golden dress, crushing his mother to him.

_His mother._

“Mother,” Arthur’s voice was nasal with tears, “I’m sorry, I’m so _sorry_.”

“I _killed_ you.”

Hot tears spilt down Merlin’s cheeks at Arthur’s wretched confession, gripping the crystal so tight he felt shards dig into his flesh.

“No.” Ygraine violently shook her head, pressing a kiss to his forehead, a mother’s benediction. 

“No, Arthur. It wasn’tt your fault. I’d give up my life for yours a thousand times over.”

“I love you,” Arthur’s voice trembled as he wept his words.

The bell chimed again, and Arthur’s heart seemed to stop. 

“No, no.” Arthur shouted, clutching at her, memorising all he could. “I need more time, so much to tell-” Childlike, he pressed his face into her neck, baptising the skin with tears.

“Shh,” Ygraine’s murmured, expression distraught. “Sweetheart. You are loved,” She smiled at Merlin, gesturing him closer, mouthing _‘thank you’_ , receiving a watery smile, “a mother needn’t know more. 

“I love you, Arthur.”

Between one heartbeat and the next, she was gone, and it was Merlin that kissed away his tears, Merlin’s arms that held him as he wept, Merlin’s mouth he kissed reverently.

 

**29.**

Merlin looked down at the sleeping prince of Camelot. Arthur was sleeping like a baby, golden hair splayed about his pillow, legs curled up, a bit of drool slipping out his open mouth. Merlin smirked; the prat may be adorable in his sleep, but that didn’t mean he had any compunctions waking him up. Especially, when he could have so much _fun_ doing so.

With a flash of gold, the red covers on Arthur’s bed twisted and slid away from the prince’s body, making him shiver slightly. The sheets twined themselves softly around Arthur’s wrists, his ankles, slowly bringing his limbs away from his body, leaving him spread across the mattress. Merlin’s cock hardened at the sight of him laid out for the taking. 

Merlin sent out a small tendril of magic to stroke along Arthur’s bared chest. Arthur twitched in his sleep, but did not wake. Merlin would just have to try something a little harder then. The golden strand of magic moved downward, caressing and slipping along Arthur’s tanned skin. As it dipped into the soft sleep breeches, Arthur finally started to show signs of waking. He breathed in sharply, tried to shift his body, but the sheets held him still.

Merlin’s cock had finally reached its full hardness by the time Arthur’s eyes blinked open as he woke fully. His smirk widened as he watched Arthur look first at his wrists, bound in red and held fast even as he tugged at them. He reached down to cup himself through his trousers.

“Arthur.”

The soft whisper of his name was all it took for Arthur’s head to whip forward, eyes pinning Merlin with an incredulous stare. 

“Merlin! What the devil is going on here?!”

Merlin chuckled, his magic twirling around Arthur’s thighs and tightening.

“Just a bit of fun to start off the day, Sire. Don’t mind me. You just lie back,” a wave of magic suddenly swept over Arthur, pinning his shoulders where he had been trying to lift himself from the bed. “and take it.”

Arthur gave him another strongly worded bitchface that clearly said, ‘When I get out of this, there’ll be hell to pay _Merlin_ ’. Merlin just smirked at him and pulled out his cock, stroking the already leaking member lightly. 

“Now hush, Arthur. Some of us would like to get off sometime today.”

For a moment it looked like Arthur was going to start arguing or bitching or whatever. He’d even started to open his mouth, but with a hastily whispered spell, Arthur’s mouth snapped shut and wouldn’t open again, no matter how hard Arthur tried. Satisfied that Arthur wouldn’t be interrupting any time soon, Merlin set about continuing his previous molestation. 

Merlin’s eyes went golden again, magic swirling about him. Tentacles of gold reached out, stroking along Arthur’s body, twining around his legs and pulling them even further apart. One tendril slipped up the leg of Arthur’s breeches, curling itself around Arthur’s cock. Arthur could only throw back his head, and let the sensations flow over him, breath coming harshly through his nose.

Merlin’s hand was stroking harder now, wrist twisting ever so slightly as he reached the tip of his cock, then sliding back down. His eyes remained fixed on the growing flush that spread itself across Arthur’s neck and chest. With a bite to his lips, he pushed his magic between Arthur’s legs, sliding between his ass cheeks. Arthur let out a surprised grunt. His eyes popped open to stare at Merlin, practically daring him to do it. So Merlin did.

He thrust his magic into Arthur, reaching immediately for that spot that would make him quiver and shake with pleasure. Merlin panted, feeling the ghost sensations of being inside Arthur running along his cock. He moved forward, kneeling on the edge of the bed, stroking himself faster as he fuck Arthur with his magic. They were both breathing heavily by now, moans and grunts coming from both them.

Arthur’s eyes were pinched shut, his chest heaving as he rutted his hips into the air. Merlin could practically _taste_ his desperation to come. With one more whisper a trail of gold latched itself onto the clothed line of Arthur’s cock. It only took a few strokes before Arthur was keening and shuddering. A wet spot spread across the fabric of his breeches. The visual was too much for Merlin because the next second his head was thrown back and he was coming in long white stripes across Arthur’s thighs.

 

**30.**

Electricity. It filled the air and vibrated through the sweat slicked bodies of the masses in the club. Heated flesh pressed against flesh, gyrating, slaves to the music that beat through them as one. The electric current flowed through the mindless lust that lingered in each dancer, though one controlled his, Merlin.

Merlin trailed his fingertips over Arthur's strong arms, leaving behind pure, prickling electricity. The musical current that coursed through their veins was not alone within Merlin, for he had magic, and intended to use it tonight.

Arthur took in a deep breath and grabbed his lover, pulling him flush against him as he let out a low growl, reacting to their new game. Whispering want surrounded them as Merlin swayed his hips devilishly. Arthur competitive as ever, had a gleam in his eye as he rolled back against Merlin.

Merlin spun in Arthur’s firm hold till he could mimic the music's back and forth with his whole body. He ground his ass back against his lover and Arthur freely offered him what was his as he grabbed his hips and rolled with him, playing out each melody with their wanton bodies.

The club was full, pulsating with feverish young men and women all lost to the beat, and yet to Merlin, him and Arthur were the only ones in the room. He turned again catching Arthur’s heated stare with his own, as his eyes flashed a mischievous fleck of gold. Arthur bit his lip brutally as he watched Merlin take control of his magic and with it his willing body.

Merlin took Arthur's hand in a surprisingly tender gesture, raising it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his wrist. But as the colour drained from Arthur's cheeks momentarily he realised as always with Merlin nothing was as it seemed. He felt that kiss through him; he felt that kiss right on the crook of his thigh. As Merlin's eyes flashed once more pure unadulterated gold, Arthur knew his plan, and he just sat back and watched.

Merlin grinned and Arthur snapped him close and crashed their lips together in a heated kiss. Tongues thrashed and fought over the ever present beat. Merlin trailing his fingertips over Arthur's open palm made the once prince almost fall to his knees and worship Merlin as their kiss broke. Arthur bit Merlin's lip hard and as the fine trace of iron tainted their bruised lips Arthur whispered against them 'I love you'

Merlin pecked at his lips a few more times before he drew his lover's hand to his mouth and softly kissed his fingertip. Arthur all fell as he felt that kiss on his erect cock, trapped in tight jeans.

Merlin grinned wickedly as he ran Arthur's finger over his lips, watching as his prince's eyes dilated and his breathing became shallow. One more kiss had Arthur leaking in his jeans and rubbing against his boyfriend obscenely, alone in the moment, even surrounded by people swaying rhythmically to the hypnotic melody.

Arthur felt every pounding bass note through his body and then Merlin parted his lips and traced his finger with the tip of his tongue. Arthur moaned and shook. As Merlin enveloped his finger in his hot, wet mouth he felt it all around his dripping dick, thrusting his needy hips forward. Merlin chuckled around his finger and his cock throbbed achingly hard.

As Merlin hollowed his cheeks and began to suck harder, swirling his tongue around Arthur's thick digit, the strong man became weak and fell against his slighter lover, groaning into his neck and fisting his hair.

Merlin never let up, he traced every line and picked up his pace. Arthur was a sobbing mess in his arms, destroyed by lust, held together by love. Merlin held him tight as he swooped in for the kill. Flicking his tongue just right as he sucked down hard, never letting up. Arthur crumbled, shaking violently as he bit into Merlin's neck, coming hard and riding every wave of his crescendo proudly and flying free, knowing Merlin would anchor him down. He always would.

 

**31.**

Balinor's magic did not frighten Hunith. While the rest of Camelot cowered in fear of the one who could control the dragons, she treated him no differently than she treated anybody else in the court. She was bold for a servant, daring to meet his eyes during feasts, smiling at him when they passed in the halls, even speaking a few words to him when Gaius sent her to the Dragonlord with an errand. He liked her smile. He liked the sound of her soft voice. He liked the way she hummed when she worked. 

One day, he touched her hand and she didn't pull away from him. He wrapped his larger paw around her dainty fingers and led her to a rarely used door, taking her away from the prying eyes and listening walls of the castle. 

In the fields and forests beyond the walls, he showed her that there was so much more to being a Dragonlord than summoning dragons. He whispered a spell and flowers grew beneath her feet, blooming in every indent her soles left in the earth. He murmured an incantation and she wore a crown made of living butterflies, a red and orange and gold ring around her softly shiny hair. When a cloud passed over the sun, casting a shadow on her beautiful face, he waved it away with a gesture of his fingers, and when she complained of the heat, he took her into the dark shadows of the forest and made her a bed of soft grass to rest on. 

He lay with her there, covering her welcoming body, kissing her delicate skin, winding his fingers through her hair as he pushed into her. She wrapped herself around him, burying her face in his neck when the pleasure overtook her, her entire frame shaking from the force of it. He was a big man—much bigger than his lovely girl—but he held her gently, touched her tenderly, kissed her lovingly. When they were both sated, he proved he could hunt, too, catching, cleaning, and cooking a rabbit to renew her energy. 

She showed him her magic, too. She let him rest his head on her lap and stroked his hair while she spoke of unknown things. He'd seen wizards and dragons and great wars and great death. He knew of the old religion and the terrible wonders it wrought. He knew of prophesy—prophesy that held devastating truths no man should be burdened with. But he never heard anything as wondrous as what she described. A home, where the two of them could be together with no fear or punishment. A family the two of them could raise, with love and devotion. She spoke of farming and she spoke of struggling and the reality of death, the truth of tears, but she told him about hope, too. 

“Show me your magic,” she whispered when he covered her body again. He did. He touched her with it. It surrounded them, a golden weaving of power and love and lust that kept them protected from the rest of the world. It sank into their skin, a fine mesh over their flesh and bone, binding them together in a way that words, that rings and vows, that ropes and chains, could not. When they kissed, their lips sparked from the power, and when he slid into her, the very air hummed, the earth shook beneath them, and his blood pulsed in time to her heartbeat. 

When he reached his pleasure, she shuddered with him, her face flushed and her skin literally glowing from the power they shared together. 

She smiled, satisfied and slow. “We're going to have a son.”

“How do you know?” 

“A woman knows.” 

Balinor gathered her in his arms and held her close to his chest, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. He tried to imagine this son of theirs, with Hunith's fine features and his darker coloring. Would he be a wizard? Would he be a Dragonlord? Would there be any dragons left in the kingdom when he came of age? For all his magic, Balinor couldn't see into the future, but he could see the perfect creature who slept so peacefully in his arms, and he knew her son would be likewise perfect. Whoever he was, whatever he did, he would be Hunith's boy. If he had a touch of her magic, he would be the most powerful man in the kingdom. 

 

**32.**

“We were very surprised when we got your father’s letter. More than once did king Uther proclaim to never offer us alliance, and suddenly he’s sending his only son to lead the talks.”

“Times change. The northern tribes are gathering their forces and it would be easier to deal with them together than separately,” Arthur says.

He’s forcing himself to not flinch at every sudden movement of the foreign king. He’s been taught that magic is evil and nothing good can come of it and this man is one of the most powerful sorcerers of the land.

“You’re afraid of magic, aren’t you?”

“I was taught to be.” 

The king closes his eyes for a moment.

“You shouldn’t be,” he says eventually, just when the door to the room open and in walks a tall, raven-haired man. 

“Father,” the man greets the king. 

“I’d like to introduce you to my son, Merlin Emrys, the Prince of Ealdor and my only heir.”

Merlin turns towards him and smiles.

“And you must be Arthur. Heard so much about you,” Merlin says. 

King Balinor’s slightly exasperated sigh is a clear indication it’s not the first time Merlin forgot all about the formal decorum used in case of meeting foreign dignitaries.

“Before we begin our alliance discussions tomorrow, I’d like to show you that magic can be used for good of the people.”

~x~

“Where are you taking me?” Arthur asks, interrupting Merlin’s chatter about his desire to visit Camelot.

“To my chambers.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

~x~

They enter Merlin’s rooms and he waves his hand, shutting the door behind them.

“I could show you our kitchens or stables where most of the hard physical labour is now done by magic, but it probably wouldn’t have that much of an effect. I think you should get to feel the magic.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Arthur says, taking a careful step back. 

“Oh, come on, Arthur. It’s going to be fun. Let me just…”

His eyes glow gold and a chair shifts across the floor, stopping right behind Arthur, a well aimed push making him lose his balance and sit down.

He’s about to stand up again when he feels it. A gentle caress over his lower belly.

“What?” he yelps, looking up at Merlin who is smirking at him.

“Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

He’s moving closer and it’s like Arthur is seeing him for the first time, the confidence and power surrounding him, and Arthur melts into the chair, feeling his cock stir in his trousers as he watches the almost predatory expression on Merlin’s face.

“You can say no any time and I’ll stop,” Merlin says.

Looming over Arthur, he places his hand above Arthur’s groin, not touching, just close enough for the heat to seep through the fabric. Phantom touches are roaming all over Arthur’s torso, driving him insane with random flicks over his nipples.

Arthur looks Merlin in the eyes, the slightly disconcerting mix of blue and swirling gold. Merlin’s smile widens and he lays his hand over Arthur’s throbbing cock. 

Pleasure bursts through Arthur and he trashes in the chair, tendrils of magic wrapping around his limbs and immobilizing him.

“Good?” Merlin asks, breathless and flushed, but still incredibly attractive.

Arthur bucks his hips up to make his opinion known, moaning loudly only seconds later when Merlin’s magic presses insistently against something in his body that feels unbearably good. 

Pressing his lips against Arthur’s, Merlin snaps his fingers and Arthur cries out, orgasm overtaking him. Merlin’s magic is everywhere all at once, prolonging the sensation, his cock spurting more cum that it ever did in one go. 

He slumps back into the chair when the urgent pleasure ebbs away, leaving him in a sweet fog of fading bliss.

He barely registers the splash of hot come landing on his chest.

~x~

“I’m glad to hear your stance towards magic is no longer so negative,” Balinor says.

“Your son presented some very strong arguments. In fact, I think I’ll visit again soon. There’s still so much to learn about magic.”

Merlin has to feign a cough to hide his snort of laughter.

 

**33.**

When Arthur was six years old, he fell in love with a character in a book. The book in question was The Once and Future King, and the character in question was, rather unusually, the eccentric old magician, Merlin. His mother pronounced his love adorable. His father did not pronounce it anything, only squinted at him and frowned.

But Arthur loved Merlin with unabashed passion, especially his strangeness and mystery, and he made his mother read him that book as often as she would allow.

There was a particular passage when Merlin and Wart were discussing good and evil, and Merlin became inexplicably sad.

_He thrust the end of his beard into his mouth, stared tragically into the fire, and began to munch it fiercely._

Arthur always buried his face in Mum’s shoulder at that part. Poor old Merlin, munching his beard, with no one to hug him and tell him not to be lonely.

“Don’t suck your thumb, love,” his mother said.

*

The Once and Future King continued to be his favorite book. He wasn’t a very good reader, but he didn’t need to be for this book. He already knew these words.

*

When Arthur was sixteen years old, he discovered his arse. He knew he had one, of course, but he never thought he’d like it touched until he tumbled down an internet rabbit hole and found a new style of porn. That night he fisted his prick and used his other hand to squeeze his arse cheek. His fingers didn’t make it all the way back there, ‘cause his face was hot just thinking of it, but he clenched and released his hole a bunch of times, and that was good too.

Eventually he turned onto his belly and lifted his arse into the air. He imagined that the old magician knelt behind him and put a finger in there and his long beard tickled Arthur’s spine. When he came, his imaginary wizard whispered, “Dear boy,” and placed a whiskery kiss between his shoulders.

*

When he was twenty, he lost his virginity with a gorgeous, agile boy and decided he was going to stop fantasizing about an old man, for chrissakes.

*

When he was thirty, Arthur’s fiancee broke off their engagement.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “It’s just…you don’t seem like you…oh god, I don’t know. I just know I can’t keep doing this.”

He ended the day sloshed, propped up against the bookshelf, rereading his battered copy of T.H. White.

_I will tell you something else, King, which may be a surprise for you. It will not happen for hundreds of years, but both of us are to come back._

It seemed like a day for perverted indulgences, so Arthur pushed his trousers down his hips and wanked over an illustration of a white-bearded man.

*

On Arthur’s thirty third birthday, a handsome, dark-haired young man with desperate eyes showed up on his doorstep.

“Hello. Er. You don’t know me, exactly. My name is Merlin.”

Arthur slammed the door in his face. He knew he shouldn’t have confessed his Arthurian obsession to the likes of Gwaine.

*

Merlin wasn’t hired to humiliate him, it turned out. He took the door off the hinges with a blast that wasn’t…quite as shocking as it ought to have been, actually.

They spent several minutes glaring at each other over cups of tea.

“Listen,” Merlin said. “I know you don’t know me, but I have spent too many damn years looking for you—”

“I know,” Arthur said.

“I— what.”

“I know.” And he did, for some reason. Well, he didn’t know that Merlin had looked for him, but he knew that this Merlin was _his_ the Merlin. That his sudden nostalgic arousal was making him dizzy.

“Are you all right?” Merlin’s hand was on Arthur’s forehead.

“Could you grow a beard?” Arthur asked.

*

“You are beyond twisted,” Merlin said much later, and god, even his voice was perfect, a croaking wheeze. He didn’t sound too unhappy about it though.

“It’s your own fault,” Arthur said, lifting his arse into the air, his heart pounding.

“T.H. fucking White,” Merlin said, as he placed sun-spotted hands on Arthur’s arse and drove his cock in.

 

**34.**

They had discharged him with little more than a pat on the back and a prescription for diazepam. The first three days he drifted between restless sleep and bone-tired consciousness. He couldn’t decide which was more exhausting.

***

On the fourth day he forced himself to get up. His sheets were damp with sweat and a bit gross; he tore them off and shoved it all into the washing machine, but had no energy to do the laundry, or pick up fresh ones.

The rest of the day he spent sitting on the bare mattress in total darkness, rubbing his wrists until the skin was raw and red and wondering where, exactly, had his life gone wrong.

***

The fifth day, there was someone at the door.

Loud, shrill tones of the doorbell reverberated inside his skull. That, if nothing else, was a good motivation to get up and answer.

“Merlin! Merlin? _Mer_ lin!”

Arthur’s voice – _Arthur_. What was _he_ doing here?

His voice was muffled and the doors shook when he hit it.

“Go away,” Merlin mumbled.

“Merlin! Are you there?” Arthur stopped beating down on the door as if they have personally offended him. 

“No.”

“Then where are you?”

“Dead,” Merlin said, humourlessly.

There was a beat of silence and then on the other side of the door Arthur was hitting them again.

“That wasn’t funny,” he said.

“Never meant it to be,” Merlin said; but he did let him in.

Three weeks and four days. That was how long they hadn’t seen each other (not that he kept a careful track, of course). Now, the moment Arthur saw Merlin, his expression fell from anger to shock. Merlin wondered what kind of image he presented – dirty, unshaven, exhausted, creeping out of the dark and empty flat like a heroin addict.

And Arthur was the picture of prim perfection. Like he always was.

“Um, hi,” Merlin said.

“Hi.”

He stood, awkwardly, while Arthur turned on the lights and opened the windows to let in some fresh air.

“You weren’t picking up,” he said.

“They confiscated my phone,” Merlin said. It occurred to him, now, that perhaps he should be mad about it.

Arthur stared.

***

“You never contacted me,” Arthur said the next day. Merlin had bathed until his skin wrinkled and made a valiant attempt at shaving and making his flat somewhat more presentable. He still fought embarrassment at having being caught like this, and by _Arthur_ , of all people.

“I thought you were mad,” he said, curling his hands around the mug of hot tea. Light glinted on the narrow silver bracelets trapping his wrists. “You know. About the magic thing.”

“I was. I am,” Arthur said

***

Seventh day was indecently hot and sunny, and so Arthur dragged Merlin outside. The light and noise nearly drove him up the wall – there was suddenly too much going on and, in the most horrible way possible, not _enough_ going on. 

His magic was—gone. There was nothing. He looked at trees and people and buildings and felt _nothing_.

The only thing he did feel was Arthur’s hand seizing his, and the warmth seeping into his skin.

***

“You know,” Merlin said. “You are really kind of wonderful.”

He looked away, embarrassed. Arthur took him out to the park – rainy day, so it was moderately deserted – and bought them both coffee and sandwiches for lunch. There wasn’t much they could talk about and Merlin’s statement caught them both unawares.

Arthur cleared his throat and did not meet Merlin’s gaze.

“Thanks.”

***

Arthur’s hands looked big around Merlin’s wrists and his palms covered the magic-cancelling bracelets. His lips fitted against Merlin’s like they were made for that very purpose.

Merlin had fantasised about this moment more times than he cared to admit; and now Arthur held him in his arms, trailing kisses over the nape of Merlin’s neck, over his naked shoulders, his chest brushing Merlin’s back with every hitching breath he took. His hands caressed Merlin’s chest and slid down to rest on his hips, digging his nails into Merlin’s skin with a desperation Merlin did not expect.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat when Arthur’s hands drifted lower. He closed his eyes, tried to keep himself from whimpering; Arthur pulled him fully into his lap, his own erection grinding against Merlin’s arse, his hand speeding up on Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s head rolled, settling onto Arthur’s shoulder, and he pressed a messy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Arthur’s jaw.

He came with a soft gasp, spilling onto Arthur’s hand. His toes were curled with the raw, unexpected pleasure of it, the tension in his muscles fading for the first time in days. 

***

Next time they were in bed together, Merlin still felt the lingering, bitter taste of Arthur’s come.

“You know,” Arthur confessed. “I never realised how much I needed you until you started falling apart on me.”

Merlin could afford to smile now. Laugh, even. He was still achingly empty inside, but he was getting used to the feeling. 

“Oh, so this is just you being selfish,” he said, teasingly.

“Yeah, essentially,” Arthur smiled. 

His magic was gone. But them—maybe they would be okay.

 

**35.**

Morgana doesn't even look surprised when Gwen draws the curtains and slips into bed with her, doesn't ask how Gwen made it past all the other Slytherins in the common room without anyone realizing that she was very far from her own House. All Morgana does is shift to make room for Gwen. "How was Hogsmeade?"

"Butterbeer is amazing," Gwen declares, careful with her enunciation.

Morgana turns Gwen's face toward the lamplight. "Are you _drunk_ on it? Just how many did you have?"

"Three," Gwen says proudly. Morgana just laughs. The butterbeer's warm in Gwen's veins and makes her frown. She wants to argue with Morgana that it isn't funny, but she settles for pressing against Morgana's side and distracting her with a kiss.

Morgan hums against her mouth, and the laughter fades to the sounds of their shared breathing. Gwen presses her advantage, asks, "What have you been up to, then, while the rest of us went to town?"

That Morgana was up to _something_ goes without saying. The Sorting Hat chose well for Morgana. She's Slytherin through and through, always scheming, always looking sly and pleased with herself.

She's that way now as she smiles up at the canopy. "I was practicing spells."

"Not anything you learned in class." That question, too, is hardly even worth asking. Gwen's never known Morgana when she hasn't been digging through the annals of the Hogwarts library for obscure, forgotten spells and teaching them to herself.

Morgana's grin is confirmation enough. She flips over, half sprawled across Gwen. Her loose hair falls down like a veil. Gwen wants to run her fingers through it. "Want to see?"

Gwen narrows her eyes. The butterbeer makes her suspicious. "Am I going to enjoy the show?"

"Undoubtedly. It's a variation on fiendfyre--"

"Merlin's beard!" Gwen yelps and scrambles upright. "Are you _trying_ to burn the castle down?"

Morgana shushes her quickly. "Someone's going to hear, and you'll get kicked back to your own bed." She's got her wand in her hand. There are a good number of students at Hogwarts who'd laugh themselves sick at the knowledge that she sleeps with it. People already whisper that the only thing Morgana Pendragon loves more than herself is magic.

Gwen knows that isn't true, but she bites her tongue when the others joke. They'd never understand.

"Do you trust me?"

There isn't another student in Hufflepuff who would call a Slytherin trustworthy, but Gwen doesn't hesitate, she just nods.

Morgana's eyes glitter. She gives a flick of her wand and whispers, " _Friendfyre_." Flame jumps off the tip of her wand, straight at Gwen.

Gwen wants to scream, it's instinct. But when the fire lands, it's only warm, and it seems well within Morgana's control. Gwen shivers beneath its intangible weight. It streaks tendrils across her skin, and everywhere the flames touch Gwen's skin tingles and heats.

"Oh--" Gwen gasps. The spell feels like the butterbeer does, sliding slick and languid through her veins. It makes her burn, makes her want. When she reaches for Morgana, Morgana comes easily -- but then she holds herself back, her eyes glittering and her hand outstretched as she directs the fire.

Tendrils of it curl up to lick over Gwen's breasts. Another thick rope of flame wriggles down between her thighs. She rocks down against the heat that bursts through her, biting back a sudden groan. "Morgana... Morgana, _please..._ "

Morgana smiles down at her, burning bright with satisfaction. She guides Gwen's head around with one hand spread across her cheek and kisses her, slow and languid. Gwen shudders as the fire spreads through her and bites at Morgana's lips, hoping to urge her into something more.

"You feel it, don't you? The power." Morgana's lips skim along Gwen's cheek to brush her air. "You're going to come just like this, aren't you? When I haven't even touched you."

"Yes," Gwen gasps. Morgana's grin is fierce and brilliant, like she's won something. She whispers another word and the heat bursts into an explosion that rocks through Gwen and leaves her shuddering, shaken.

"You're mine, aren't you?"

Gwen nods helplessly. She's not sure whether Morgana's talking about her or the spell. She's not sure it matters. Hufflepuffs are supposed to be fair and just, and Gwen's always been proud of her house. But for once, Gwen's found something she wants to keep for herself.

She's not sure whether she means Morgana or the spell, either. But this time, she _knows_ it doesn't matter.

 

**36.**

The manacles bit tightly into Gwen’s wrists, holding her up, but not so tightly that her feet couldn’t rest comfortably on the floor. She had been here for hours—long enough for her whole body to ache, short enough to allow her to keep track of time.

The door opened. Morgana walked in and pressed a kiss to Gwen’s lips; she turned her face away. Morgana ignored the slight. “How I’ve missed you,” she said. “You must have missed me. All that time in the castle with no one to talk to?”

Gwen lifted her chin. “I have Arthur. And Merlin and Gaius.” Her voice came out scratchy and hoarse.

Morgana gave her a pitying look. “I mean someone to really talk to. Come, Gwen, we’ve never kept secrets from each other before. Why start now?”

“I haven’t trusted you ever since you tried to take Camelot’s throne for your own,” Gwen said.

Morgana’s face hardened. She walked a slow circle around Gwen, studying her. “Uther has never been kind to you. Why do you defend him?”

Gwen’s eyes blazed. “And where did my kindness to you land me? In a dungeon, chained and kept prisoner.”

Morgana sighed. “You were never my enemy. I thought you were the only friend I had.” She walked over to Gwen, trailing a finger down her cheek. “We had something special, Gwen. Don’t let us forget that.”

The manacles disappeared in a flash of light. Gwen’s legs, unused to supporting her full weight for so long, wobbled. Morgana caught her in her strong arms before she fell, and set her carefully on the floor. “My dear Gwen,” she said, her lips brushing teasingly against Gwen’s ear, “let us not be enemies anymore.”

Gwen, limp in Morgana’s arms, let herself be kissed. Morgana kissed the same as ever: with softness tempered by desire. Gwen closed her eyes briefly, savouring the long-forgotten memory of Morgana’s lips against hers. She allowed herself this small moment, safe in Morgana’s arms.

Morgana tightened her embrace, placing soft kisses along Gwen’s collarbone. “Perhaps I can convince you that we can still be friends,” she said. Using her fingers, Morgana undid the laces of Gwen’s bodice, loosening and freeing her breasts to the chilly air. Gwen’s nipples were peaked, but not just from the cold.

“Let me warm you up.” Morgana blew a warm breath over Gwen’s nipples, causing them to pebble tightly.

Gwen gasped as a tendril of magic, glowing gold, came from Morgana’s fingertips and circled around her breast, caressing its barest edge. Morgana’s tongue followed, the wetness leaving Gwen shivering with desire.

“I’ve learned a thing or two with my magic,” Morgana said. “Magic’s not all bad. Too bad Uther would never understand the pleasures it can bring you. But you, Gwen, you know better. You’ve always had an open mind and a caring heart. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, my lady,” Gwen said, gasping.

Morgana laughed. “You always were so eager for me. If we are being honest with each other, I must tell you that I learned them all for you. I practised on myself, knowing one day you would be with me again.”

Gwen stifled a moan. The image of Morgana using her magic to pleasure herself while thinking of her sent jolts of wet heat pooling between Gwen’s legs. The tendrils crept slowly upward, seeking the warmth between her folds. Gwen spread her legs wider, aching for more.

“What the magic feels, I feel,” Morgana whispered against Gwen’s skin.

Gwen moaned as the magic entered her, the tendrils slicking themselves on her wetness before pushing in steadily, relentlessly. They were thick inside her at first, thrusting in sharply, then thinned along with Morgana’s magic to make her better feel the sensation. Gwen cried out as they curled inside her, exploring her depths. They hummed with magic, and Gwen tightened around them, urging them deeper. The tendrils grew voracious, spreading inside her, going deeper than Morgana’s fingers or tongue ever did. At last the tendrils pulsed, sending waves of magic into her. Gwen came, crying out, feeling the magic burst throughout her. She came again and again with each wave, not knowing where her orgasms stopped and Morgana’s magic began.

“My lady,” Gwen said softly, brokenly, when she could speak again. “I am yours.”

 

**37.**

"Merlin, I know you wanted to do something special for my birthday, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind," said Arthur, taking in his surroundings.

"Um, this isn't me."

"What do you mean it isn't you? How else do you propose we ended up in medieval times in period clothes without magic?"

"I mean I can do magic, not time travel."

“Hmm well, we’d best figure out how to get home. As much fun as it would be to be a king, I was rather looking forward to pints with the lads tonight.”

As if in answer to his question, there was a poof of smoke and a woman materialized before them. She wore a ragged red dress and surveyed them with interest.

"As much as I look forward to your usual banter, I'm in the mood for a different kind of show tonight boys."

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Arthur.

"Think of me as your director. You've been in rehearsals for far too long and now it's time for the main event!" she ended with a flourish.

"What?" asked Merlin dumbly.

"Think of it this way boys, if you play you're roles, you'll get home just fine. If you don't," she smirked at them before disappearing in another cloud of smoke.

"Play our roles? What is this, time travel or a sodding tv programme?" Arthur yelled.

"Maybe it's both. But at least now we know how to get home," Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Arthur looked around at at the room properly for the first time and picked up on some rather suggestive details: the turned down bed, the gently crackling fire, and most prominently, a bedside table featuring a wash basin and a large vial of oil.

"You mean she wants us to..."

"Fuck? Yeah I reckon that's what she's after. Not much else we can do in a bedroom."

"Oh. Ok. How do we do this?"

"Generally you start with kissing," said Merlin before he gently pressed his lips to Arthur's. Merlin pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Just lie back and think of England, this will be over before you know it."

Arthur was just about to suggest that maybe they take their time and give their director a proper show when Merlin pounced on him, tackling him down onto the mattress and grinding against him in an obscene way.

"Mer-" the rest of his sentence turned into a deep moan as Merlin sucked on the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Merlin shifted higher so that he could nibble on Arthur's earlobe. Arthur bucked his hips against the sudden loss of friction and Merlin grinned wickedly at him.

"I'd say you're ready, let's get clothes off then shall we?"

It wasn't fair that Merlin had retained control over the English language, thought Arthur as Merlin stripped them both and reached for the bottle of oil.

"So who's going to bott-" the rest of his words died on his tongue as he watched Merlin reach behind himself and open his mouth in a little 'o' shape and shudder as he inserted a finger into himself.

Arthur couldn't look away as Merlin started fucking himself in earnest.

"Right, I think we're ready then," said Merlin as he poured the rest of the oil over Arthur's now painfully hard cock.

"You ready?"

"Yes," Arthur gasped and Merlin lowered himself onto Arthur in one smooth motion. Arthur barely managed not to jerk his hips before Merlin started riding him like it was his day job.

"Doesn't it hurt if you go fast like that?"

"Only at first," Merlin panted, "but I might have stretched myself a little magically too."

Arthur tried desperately to stay focused but all brain activity seemed to be ceasing in a rising wave of pleasure. "Wait, you mean you use your magic for sex?"

"Maybe. Sometimes. Frequently. Is that weird?"

"No, that's fucking hot!"

Merlin grinned at him and started thrusting with impossibly more vigour, adding an occasional roll of his hips.

"I hope that bloody witch is watching because we're just about at our climax." Arthur let out a long moan as his hips rose up off the bed. He somehow managed to keep stroking Merlin, and Merlin followed him over the edge with a series of curses.

"I must say, you performed a little differently than I thought you would." They turned in unison and saw the woman eyeing them with downright glee." That oil was meant for polishing. Armour." She looked pointedly at the pieces of plate mail spread out over the table. "However you did put on quite a show for me so," she snapped her fingers and they were back at Arthur's.

Arthur turned to look at Merlin. "You up for another go?"

Merlin turned and grinned at him, his eyes flashing gold as he winked.

 

**38.**

“Come on Arthur, do I have to?” Merlin says, definitely _not_ whining as he dons his ridiculous robe (Pendragon Red). He really prefers blue and his normal every day clothes, but Arthur had told him under no circumstances was he allowed to wear that during the tournament.

Arthur answers bemusedly, “Of course you do. We’ve been over this. If Camelot’s own Court Sorcery doesn’t participate in the tourney, then why should anyone else?”

“Because they all want to suck up to you,” Merlin mutters hatefully, pulling his boots on. “And for the record,” he says so Arthur could hear, “I hate you.”

“You’ve said that.” Arthur’s lips twitches upward. 

“Prat.” Merlin retorts, throwing his ridiculous hat at Arthur, who (predictably) dodges and laughs.  
“Idiot.” Arthur says, almost fondly. Merlin glares. 

“Do I look presentable?” Merlin says instead, since he already knows he can’t get out of this. 

Arthur’s eyes rake up his body, and (no, Merlin does not flush) nods.

Not trusting himself to speak (not because he’s turned on or anything by Arthur blatantly checking him out), he nods too and lets himself be dragged out of the King’s bedchambers and onto the dreaded field. 

Damn Arthur and his stupid _face_. 

~*~

At the end of the day, Merlin has fought five sorcerers, amassed collection of bruises on his back and face from when the sorcerers managed to trip him (which isn’t really a hardship he thinks, grumpily, wincing), and won. 

He barely pays any attention to the closing speech that Arthur makes for the first day of the tournament (Merlin wrote the thing, so he can afford to roll his eyes at his King while ignoring him). Afterwards, he hurries away from the field, dodging the sorcerers who want to ask him about the magic he used today and villagers who want to wish him good luck.

He strips his stupid robe of dirt and the like before heading to Arthur’s chambers to complain. Arthur managed to get back without being accosted, and _really_ , that’s distinctly unfair. 

Merlin throws the heavy doors open and gets as far as opening his mouth before Arthur’s mouth is on his. Merlin whimpers and kisses back, and it’s a terrible kiss; their teeth are clacking together and the angle is weird, but it’s brilliant _especially_ with Arthur grinding his hips into Merlin’s, whose cock instantly takes an interest in the proceedings.

Vaguely remember that the doors are still open, Merlin waves his hand at it and it shuts with a resounding clang. Arthur groans, pushing Merlin backwards until his back hits the door (Merlin definitely doesn’t hiss when his bruises are banged). 

“Love it when you do that.” Arthur pants, kissing down Merlin’s jaw and collar. 

“Magic?” Merlin says stupidly and wonders when on _Earth_ Arthur got that kink without Merlin noticing. 

“Yeah,” Arthur says while pushing Merlin’s pants down, down, down and palming at his erection.

“Oh fu-uck,” Merlin chokes, back arching. His hands mindlessly scrabble around and eventually find purchase in Arthur’s hair in front of his stomach. 

Blearily he looks down, and realizes that magic, _his_ magic, had without his knowing, pushed Arthur to his knees. And Arthur loves it. 

Arthur fondles Merlin’s balls and licks all the way up Merlin’s cock before sucking in the head. Merlin shouts in surprise and bucks, throwing his head back with a thud. His hands compulsively stroke Arthur’s hair as Arthur takes him deeper, until— _god_ —Merlin hits the back of Arthur throat. He tries to hold himself still, but Arthur moans around his cock and sends Merlin out of his _mind_.

“Arthur,” he all but begs, and his magic responds. It holds Arthur in place and lets Merlin fuck his delicious mouth, and by the looks of Arthur’s wrecked gaze, Arthur doesn’t mind in the slightest. It’s hot and stifling and amazing, and Merlin can’t hold back his moans as the pleasure shoots up his spine. 

Suddenly Arthur shudders, and slumps as far as he can with Merlin’s magic holding him up.  
“Oh god, did you just come just from that?” Merlin rasps, already knowing the answer. 

It only takes Arthur's dazed look and slow nod for Merlin to tip over the edge and come straight down Arthur’s throat. Dimly, Merlin feels his magic release Arthur as Merlin slides down the door, his legs unable to support him. 

“No wonder you want me in the tourney,” he says finally, wrapped up in Arthur on the floor. Arthur’s rumbling laugh is all the answer he needs. 

 

**39.**

His mother says he’s used magic his whole life, but Merlin doesn’t remember anything earlier than an incident when he was four, when he made vegetables dance across the table. He remembers being delighted by their movement, laughing and clapping while his mother tried to corral them back into the basket.

*

He had always used his magic in small, secret ways, but his mother pleaded with him to keep it hidden. Being the only magic user in their tiny village was bound to cause conflict. Merlin was already picked on for his large ears and his easy smiles, so he agreed.

*

When Merlin’s magic starts to act on its own, Hunith begins to worry.

When he makes the rains come during a dry spring, Hunith writes to Gaius.

*

Merlin has only just settled in to his room in Gaius’s chambers when a man rushes in demanding to know where Gaius is.

“A bit rude, aren’t you? He’s just gone to fetch something.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me, who are you?”

Merlin feels his cheeks heat up, but he doesn’t answer.

“When you see Gaius, tell him that Prince Arthur came to see him.” He pauses on his way to the door. “And learn some respect, boy.”

*

In between gathering herbs and running errands and magic lessons, Arthur calls on him for stupid things like fetching his laundry and being the target during practice with the knights. It’s irksome, so while serving at a feast he uses his magic to spill Arthur’s wine down his shirt.

*

Merlin rarely has any time to himself, so when he finds himself alone with no pressing responsibilities he has a leisurely wank. He runs his palms up his thighs, over his stomach and chest, bumps rising on his skin. He grips his prick in a tight fist. It’s dry, but he likes it that way to start.

He finds the vial of oil hidden underneath his pillow and gets his hands slick. His right hand goes back to his prick, the oil making each pass of his hand feel even better.

He’s wanted to try fingers before, but without the comforts of oil and time it hardly seemed worth it. He rubs the tip of his middle finger across his entrance, shivering at the contact. He just holds his cock for a moment while he tries to relax. He rubs the tip of his finger in circles, the shivers building until he gives a full-body shake. He presses in, barely the tip, but it feels like an accomplishment. He moves his fingertip in and out, tiny movements that feel like his whole world is shifting. He rubs another finger against his hole, the muscle gives and then he has two fingers _in himself_ , and he squeezes his prick to stave off coming at the realization.

He builds up a rhythm and it’s so good – better than he’s ever felt – but it’s not enough. He pushes in deeper, but no matter how he twists himself he can’t quite reach. He imagines what it would be like to have longer fingers, thicker fingers. Like Arthur. _Oh, fuck._

He can feel Arthur’s fingers now – the soft skin, the strength in them whenever Arthur grabs him by the scruff of the neck, bossing him around.

Merlin turns his face into the pillow on a gasp. He shoves his fingers in harder and they feel deeper, like they’ve actually grown longer. It takes him a second to realize that his magic is actually making his fingers into _Arthur’s fingers_.

He imagines what it would be like if Arthur was really there – Merlin wanking himself, Arthur thrusting his fingers into Merlin’s ass. He imagines Arthur being almost selfish, using Merlin for his own pleasure, demanding and just this side of rough.

Merlin’s sweating all over just thinking about touching Arthur’s naked skin, _god_ maybe even kissing him.

He finds that bundle of nerves and presses once. It sends a thrill through his body, amplified by his magic. He presses again, harder, and the sensation is overwhelming.

He pictures Arthur’s indignant face if he ever found out that Merlin was not only thinking of him while wanking, but magically using Arthur’s own hand. He laughs and comes, spurting over his stomach.

He lies there for a moment, coming down. Eventually he reins his magic in, fingers becoming his own again. He magicks away his release and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 

**40.**

Arthur gets inappropriate boners from Merlin doing magic.

 

Arthur finding out about Merlin's magic comes down, in the end, to nothing more involved than a poorly-locked door and Arthur's habit of striding into any room as if he owns it (which, technically, he does.)

There are not a lot of other explanations for the lazy manner in which Merlin is directing things around his small space, clearly tidying up and making a bit of a show of it. They all drop guiltily to the floor when he sees Arthur, but Arthur still catches the shine of Merlin's eyes and his outstretched fingers. 

Arthur crosses his arms and waits.

“I can explain...” Merlin stammers.

*

Merlin's explanation is, unfortunately, quite reasonable. Arthur honestly can't tell how he'd have reacted to the news while his father was still on the throne, torn between his duty as a son and prince and the unquestionable loyalty and bravery Merlin has shown. 

As it is, he clips Merlin around the head, then pulls him into a rough hug, muttering an almost inaudible “thank you” into his neck. Merlin flails around for a moment, clearly caught off-guard, but then returns the embrace with enthusiasm.

And that's that.

*

Except it's not, because Merlin now uses his magic freely around Arthur; for everything from cleaning his boots to deflecting arrows that are aimed at his heart. He's astonishingly competent with it, a word Arthur never thought he'd use to describe Merlin. 

Of course, he still trips over his own feet and once he heated Arthur's bath water a little _too_ thoroughly, but Arthur thinks he wouldn't give up those parts of Merlin even if he could. The reminders that he's still _Merlin_ , hopelessly clumsy and distressingly endearing.

The thought leaves him a little unsettled.

*

And then there's the other problem.

It didn't happen the first time, because Arthur was a little preoccupied with the discovery of his heretofore incompetent manservant's hidden talents, but it definitely happened the second time.

Seeing Merlin with his palm outstretched, eyes glowing, lighting the fire in Arthur's chambers with just a whisper...

It's something about all that carefully-contained and effortlessly-controlled power, Arthur suspects. That's how he rationalises it, at least, how much watching Merlin perform that simple task turns him on.

He's thankful that he's seated, and he barks at Merlin to get out, which Merlin does with an offended look. Arthur is left alone with his thoughts, a thoroughly inappropriate erection, and a creeping feeling of doom.

*

It doesn't stop. 

It doesn't happen every time, because it's Arthur doesn't tend to get aroused when he's running for his life, or in the middle of a fight.

But those times inevitably lead to Arthur in his bed that night, or on his bedroll in some camp, turning over the sight of Merlin defeating men of twice his strength, of his slender fingers brimming with power, his already stunning eyes turned gold.

Which inevitably leads to him stroking himself off, desperately fast, biting his lip around Merlin's name when he comes.

*

They can't carry on like this forever.

*

Arthur should have realised Merlin would take matters into his own hands. 

He's been extra-busy today, polishing Arthur's armour to a shine, cleaning his chambers, even replenishing his plate when Arthur complained about still being hungry. All done magically, of course, which does nothing for Arthur's mood.

Finally he snaps at Merlin to stop it, when Merlin conjures up some fresh fruit for him, rounding on Merlin and glaring, hands on his hips.

Merlin's eyes slide down his body to wear his breeches are unmistakeably bulging, and a half-exasperated, half-pleased expression crosses his face.

“I _knew_ it,” he says, and then he's across the room and kissing Arthur breathless.

It takes Arthur a moment to catch up, unsure of what exactly is happening, but he wants it to continue more than anything, so he kisses Merlin back as thoroughly as he knows how. 

It's not until Merlin's on his back, heels digging into Arthur's back and urging him deeper, that he speaks again.

“Knew it turned you on, why couldn't you just - ”

Arthur kisses him quiet, slowing down and circling his hips until Merlin's panting into his mouth.

“Come on, Arthur, please,” he stutters, reaching down to work his cock in his fist. And then he looks up, straight into Arthur's eyes and whispers something in a language Arthur doesn't understand. But he feels the crackle in the air and sees the shift of Merlin's eyes, and that's it.

Arthur comes.

*

“Merlin, you know it's not just the magic thing, I - ”

“I know.”

 

**41.**

Merlin had started it. 

Arthur was minding his own business, sitting in a council meeting listening to Leon go on and on about grain distribution  
(God, that man loved his number crunching, it was scary sometimes) when he had felt a rather odd sensation in his trousers.

It felt like a feather, stroking ever-so-softly over his balls. Arthur tried to ignore it at first, but the stroking sensation intensified, and Arthur felt himself getting hard.

He was going to _kill_ Merlin. But first he was going to take it out on his skinny little ass.

Thinking about Merlin’s skinny little ass, draped over the table they ate lunch at while Arthur pounded into him, didn’t help with Arthur’s inconvenient erection.

He shifted in his chair, feeling his face heat up, as Leon interrupted his discourse on the best practices for warehousing and rotating grain to ask, “Are you quite well, Sire? You look rather flushed.”

“I’m fine, Leon, please continue,” Arthur said, trying hard not to squirm as the unseen feather traced around the head of his penis.

The ever helpful George sprang from his position behind Arthur’s chair to open a window. George was an excellent manservant. Much better than that big-eared, insolent, over-sexed sorcerer who shared his bed…

The thought was interrupted by a bitten- off cry as the tip of the feather tickled the slit of Arthur’s prick.

He made it through the rest of the meeting, but had to sit alone at the council table for fifteen minutes before it was safe to stand up.

 _All right then, Merlin,_ he thought. _It. Is. On._

***

Arthur thought his punishment for Merlin was inventive and appropriate.

As soon as he got back to his chambers he grabbed Merlin, manhandled him across his lap in the big chair by the fireplace, and spanked him until his arse was as red as a ripe strawberry.

Then he dragged Merlin over to the bed and fucked him until he screamed.

And he wouldn’t let Merlin wear pants for the rest of the night. Merlin looked adorable padding around the room in nothing but a tunic, and every time he bent over Arthur got a nice view of his sweetly blushing arsecheeks.

Arthur had to hide a smile every time Merlin winced when he sat down.

But maybe he didn’t hide his smiles quite well enough.

Merlin’s delayed his revenge for a full ten days, long enough for Arthur to let down his guard.

His mistake.

He was sparring with Gwaine, shouting instruction to the new and veteran knights who were watching, when he felt something teasing at his arsehole.

He was so surprised that lost track of what he was doing, and Gwaine knocked his sword out of his hand and tripped him so that he landed flat on his back on the ground.

Gwaine, who enjoyed his rare victories over Arthur in training more than was really seemly, planted his boot on Arthur’s solar plexus and pointed his sword at Arthur’s heart.

“Yield,” he ordered.

As he lay there pinned, the object that had been teasing at his hole slid in in one smooth motion. The object had been slicked up, so it didn’t hurt, but it startled Arthur. 

He couldn’t seem to make his mouth work as the object, which felt exactly like Merlin’s penis, started fucking him very hard and fast.

The other knights gathered in a circle around him, concerned that Arthur was turning bright red again and seemed unable to speak. Gwaine removed his boot and his sword, someone was shouting for water, and Lance knelt down next to Arthur’s head, saying, “Arthur? What’s wrong? Can you tell us where it hurts?”

The hard fucking of his ass continued, picking up speed. And then the object in his arse seemed to swell to twice its circumference.

Which is how it happened that with the eyes of all of his knights on him and Lance tenderly stroking his hair, Arthur dug his heels into the dirt, arched his back, and came.

***

He was able to pass it off as a momentary seizure caused by hitting his head, although he wasn’t sure everyone was buying it. Gwaine had a rather lecherous grin on his face, and when Leon solicitously offered him his arm back to the castle, Arthur could see that he was manfully trying to suppress a smirk.

Merlin was going to be sorry he was ever born. Arthur would make sure of it.

 

**42.**

Really, Arthur thought the first time he fucked Merlin, how could he have ever missed the fact his manservant had magic? 

The air around Merlin glowed when he came, which would have been a clue if Arthur had not already known.

/\/\/\/\

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, one night, while he watched Merlin drag his feet tidying up at the end of the day. 

Arthur waited until the last moment, when Merlin was blowing out the candles by the door, before walking up behind him and pressing his chest to Merlin's back. The candle in front of them flared and then blew out. Arthur sighed into Merlin's neck and pretended he didn't see it. 

He laid his hand over the front of Merlin's pants. Merlin’s cock was still soft but Arthur fondled it to hardness. Merlin tried to turn but Arthur leaned into him until Merlin reached out for the wall and balance. Arthur kept going until Merlin panted and all of the other candles in the room flared until Arthur could see the flush of sweat on Merlin's skin. 

Arthur knew Merlin’s eyes were always closed when he came but he still worried. 

/\/\/\/\

Arthur was sure that Merlin had never had sex with anyone before him. If the way he was completely ignorant of his magical tell was any indication. Arthur was going to say something but each time was different. Sometimes there was nothing he could **see** that gave Merlin away but he could feel it. 

He had been hesitant to allow Merlin's hand to creep into his pants. They were on a hunting trip and even some way away from the rest of his men magic would be noticed. There was nothing to be seen though. 

Merlin's words were another matter. As he described, in vivid detail, exactly what he would like to do to the prince Arthur felt a press at his entrance. He leaned forward into Merlin's neck as he was breeched. The magical feeling reached further, touched things that Merlin's cock didn’t but it simply wasn't the same as the hard stretch of Merlin's cock inside of him. As Arthur thought it the magic inside of him and Merlin's hand brought him to a shuddering climax. He kept his eyes open through sheer force of will to watch as Merlin came. There was no outward sign of his magic for the first time since they had started this relationship. 

/\/\/\/\

Arthur had begun to suspect Merlin had magic somewhere between the fifth mysteriously falling branch and the fourth I've got a bad feeling. It was after Arthur had discovered friendship in the guise of servitude and something he refused to call love but would admit was nearer need than want. 

Then one day, by a fast moving river, Arthur realised that not only did he trust Merlin, he trusted his magic. The bandits ambushed them and Arthur turned his back on Merlin. He heard the crack of a branch breaking and smirked at the thug in front of him before he ran him through with a sword. 

That night, Arthur broke a number of his father’s rules. He harboured a magic user. He made an overture to one of his servants and he had lain with a man. He wasn't sure if the magic or man aspects would annoy his father more. 

Merlin had been enthusiastic when Arthur kissed him. The prince had pulled back and checked that Merlin didn't feel coerced but Merlin simply rolled his eyes at Arthur and lunged back to connect their lips. 

As Arthur slid into Merlin's slicked, wet entrance he felt something press into his skin like the soft wrap of a quality clothing. He knew it was Merlin's magic. The sensation increased until Merlin came and the very air seemed to glow. Arthur wondered if Merlin even realised that he did magic when he had sex.

The completely relaxed and unfearful look on Merlin's face when he finally opened his eyes and smiled goofily up at Arthur told him that Merlin had no idea. 

/\/\/\/\

The night after the ceremony to name Merlin as official sorcerer of the Court of Camelot, Arthur worked Merlin took his time showing Merlin that no title changed anything between them here. 

“You know you lose control of your magic when we’re in bed.” Arthur said as he started to push his cock into Merlin’s slick body. 

Merlin smirked and arched up into Arthur. “I know, it’s how I knew you loved me." 

 

**43.**

"Merlin—" he whispered, voice hoarse and with a hint of desperation.

"Shh," Merlin pushed Arthur’s breeches down and looked up at him. Arthur's hands flew to Merlin's hair, just resting there, not pulling, and Merlin’s attention quickly went back to Arthur's dick, taking it into his mouth and making Arthur's vision go blank. His head fell back against the bedpost, his back arching with Merlin's touch, and he barely held back the moan rushing past his lips when Merlin's hands surrounded his arse cheeks beneath his thigh, and swallowed Arthur's cock deep and slow, only to pull back instantly

"You're so wet for me, Arthur, so hard," Merlin husked.

"Shut up," Arthur replied in a breath, and Merlin rubbed his nose against Arthur's balls, gave it a quick lick, and pushed to his feet. Arthur opened his eyes and met his gaze, but before he could do much but blink, he was being shoved backwards and landing flat on his back on the mattress whilst Merlin tugged his breeches off and crawled atop him.

He opened Arthur's legs wide, letting him exposed, bent Arthur’s knees up and settled himself between them, sitting back on his heels and watching Arthur with _that_ look that made Arthur shiver everytime, intense and piercing.

"I'm not going to fuck you tonight,” Merlin told him, and Arthur almost choked on his own desperation. Almost— thought of _begging_. 

But then Merlin's hands were pressing Arthur's own against the mattress beside his head and Arthur couldn't move, couldn't do anything but grab the sheets into fists or press them flat and shaky against the bed. He reluctantly stopped fighting against the magic that held him in place and simply watched Merlin working on him. Watched Merlin bending down to kiss his balls whilst one of his hand worked on Arthur's cock, the other pinning Arthur down where it was pressed against his belly, and Arthur groaned when the tip of Merlin's tongue darted downwards and touched his hole, making his stomach flex, his muscles go taut. Arthur could feel the sweat forming on his nape.

"Merlin, I need, you have to—" Arthur’s voice was raw, and he wanted to move his hands, he wanted to reach down and haul Merlin up, kiss him, touch him, wanted Merlin inside of him, wanted—

"I have to what, Arthur? What do you want? Tell me," Merlin asked. Arthur knew what Merlin was doing, he was going to have to say it, beg for it, and Arthur most definitely did not beg to anyone for anything. 

"Fuck, Merlin. It's an order," Arthur said and Merlin only pushed his tongue inside him in revenge. "Fucking do it, now."

"You're not in the position to order me anything, don't you think?" Merlin pulled himself up, still pumping Arthur’s cock, but then he was suddenly on Arthur's face, his lips ghosting over his own and moving towards Arthur’s ear. 

"Say it," Merlin whispered. "Come on, Arthur, I want to hear you say it to me." Merlin’s lips brushed against Arthur’s earlobe. "It’s just us."

"Just set me free of the magic, I hate this."

"What? Not being in control, not being able to touch?" 

"Yes," Arthur grunted, his voice raising in annoyance. He tilted his head to the side to kiss Merlin's mouth but Merlin pulled away. "Merlin."

Merlin's strokes became faster, easing his thumb over the head and flicking his wrist, softening and tightening up the grip, changing the pace to give Arthur everything he wanted at once.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Merlin, please." He squeezed his eyes shut, heels digging against the mattress.

"Shh," Merlin said and now really kissed him on the lips. Arthur opened his mouth and pressed his tongue against Merlin's, bit his lips to show him all his frustration and Merlin pulled away just a moment, then touched Arthur's hands briefly with his fingertips so Arthur could move again. His hands flew to Merlin's arse within a second.

"God, I hate you," he said to Merlin's mouth, weak and untrue, grinding their groins together. "I hate you so much." 

"Come on, come for me," Merlin murmured to his lips and then kissed him again, and again, until Arthur’s mouth felt sore and numb and he was coming hard over Merlin's hand and his own belly.

Merlin rested his forehead against his own and dropped his hand from Arthur's cock just to wrap it around himself but Arthur drew his hand away and did it himself, bringing Merlin off just like Merlin had done with him.

When Merlin's elbow shaked and he buried his face on Arthur's neck, Arthur closed his eyes, holding Merlin's warm body right there above him and placing his hand on the hollow of Merlin's lower back as Merlin's seed painted his other hand, sticky and hot.

 

**44.**

Morgana doesn't usually hit residences; the payoff is pennies compared to the corporate jobs she takes.

This job is different.

“The panel's on your left,” Gwen says in her ear. The sound is clear, whatever bugs the tech had developed in the last heist exterminated after Gwen sifted through the code. “Under the painting. Give me a minute to disable the alarm.”

“Fucking ugly painting,” Morgana mutters, so low only her mic picks up her voice. Gwen hushes her anyway. 

“Got it. Give it a tug, and—yep. Pull that red wire out. That's the tricky bit done.”

“Easy for you to say,” Morgana says, just to hear Gwen laugh. 

“You could do half these jobs with one hand tied behind your back.”

“Magic's useless for tech; why else would I keep you around?”

“Of course.” Gwen sounds amused. “The only reason you haven't slit my throat yet.”

“You know it.”

“Move,” Gwen instructs. “You've two minutes before the alarms come back online; stay low.”

Morgana moves with a grace she knows is inhuman. So much of her is terribly, fallibly human, but not this—not the magic moving with her muscles, keeping her steps lighter, faster than any natural woman. It's the work of a few seconds to reach the door at the end of the hall; she's reaching for the handle when she hears something and stops dead.

“Morgana,” Gwen hisses at her. “The drives are—”

“Heard something.” There's the noise again—low, unmistakeable. “Someone's here.”

“The house is empty; he won't be back until—”

Morgana slips through the door before Gwen can finish, just another dark shadow in the corners, hidden by more than just the night.

“Oh,” Gwen says in her ear.

Morgana can see as well in the dark as she can at noon—all it takes is a quick shift of thought, and the scene is laid out in full, glorious color. The covers of the bed are kicked down, trailing off the bed onto the floor with the pillows, but neither of the men sharing the mattress look cold. 

“Fuuuck,” one of them says, strained—Morgana looks at him more closely, where he's arching up, his head and feet slipping a little on the fitted sheet, because he seems—

“Is that _Arthur Pendragon_?” Gwen asks, incredulous; Morgana nods, knowing Gwen's sensors will pick up the movement. Arthur bucks up again, and again, begging, and Morgana's never been happier to have Gwen's tech tucked around her body, recording every word. They're being handed blackmail on a silver platter.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps, “fuck—fuck me, Merlin, give it to me, please—”

Merlin is eagerly obliging, doing exactly as Arthur asks, their bodies moving smoothly together, the smell of sweat and sex spreading. They're gorgeous together, and Morgana's never been one for denying temptation. Perhaps she'll forgo blackmail and add the video to her personal collection.

“Morgana,” Gwen hisses. “Are you—seriously?”

“Relax,” Morgana murmurs as she slips her hand into her panties, curling her fingers against herself. “Fuck, that's hot.”

“We're _working_!”

“Break time,” Morgana says, enjoying the way Gwen splutters. “Wish I was with you. I'd touch you just like this, stretch you out and make you scream—”

Arthur groans, low and broken, but it doesn't hide the hitch in Gwen's breathing. “I swear, Morgana—”

Morgana doesn't listen. She releases her magic instead, reaching to brush an invisible touch over Gwen's skin, teasing at her breasts and the softness of her belly.

“Working!” Gwen squeaks, strangled, and Morgana laughs—a huff of air, inaudible beneath all Arthur's noise—but it's enough to give her away. 

Merlin freezes, ignoring Arthur's whine, whipping his head around, but Morgana's already moving. She'd noticed the drives on her first visual sweep of the room; she dives for them now, throwing up her shields when a bolt of golden magic nearly hits her.

“Apologies, boys,” she says, once the drives are safe in hand. She doesn't let her shields down. They haven't moved—Merlin's still balls-deep in Arthur's arse—but the magic she can feel Merlin gathering is powerful. “I'll leave you to it. Magnificent show.”

Merlin unleashes his magic, but she's already vanished, laughing fit to burst, Pendragon Corp.'s most important research projects under her arm. She and Gwen will celebrate tonight, long and loud until the sun comes up over the world, their oyster. 

 

**45.**

She was alluring to his eye—cascading, long black hair rolling in waves down her back—the way she smiles like the world belongs to her. There is something magical in the simple, and yet, beautiful aspects of life. Locked away from the outside world, forced to succumb to a man who turned out to be your father, Morgana couldn’t be one-hundred percent to blame for the intense transformation.

Of course, she was.

Everything she did, she could have done differently.

Many say that destiny is something you can’t escape, the fates are cruel to those who are meant to do evil. The evil of succumbing to their darkest desires is what you can’t escape.

If she could have been shown how to control the magic, the power she holds in the palm of her hand instead of running scared. He should have held up his arms for her to embrace him, feel the warmth and goodness in his heart. Knowing that you are not alone, we all want to feel that we belong somewhere.

How could she hate?

The faith she saw exhibited by the man who later became known as her father—his fears and loathing are a vile poison, the catalyst of her self-destruction was the corrupting influences of a long-lost sister. Being stubborn and unable to compromise, it is her fatal flaw like her father’s unquenched revenge on magic users.

One more drop of serum into the vein.

A wave of nausea creeps over Merlin as the blood in his arm darkens, his eyes lull back in their sockets as another impulse wave of memory leaks into his frontal lobe. The woman standing before him—he was down on the ground at this time—was menacing with anger at this creature inhabiting his outer appearance. Fog appears all around him at this time, it wasn’t foggy that day from what he remembered.

From the fog, another voice echoed through his mind, a calming voice—the one who should soothe his spirit—it asked, “Are you there right now, Merlin?”

“Yes,” Merlin’s voice echoes in his head. It sounds weird looking back on this now.

“Where are you at in your memories?”

“Somewhere outside of my old friend’s abandoned house,” Merlin’s voice answers robotically, “it is right when she is about to destroy me.”

“And she doesn’t destroy you,” the voice asks, “it is all a dream. What do we say to dreams, Merlin?”

For what it is worth, the man must have been paid good money to diagnose his ailment. Merlin couldn’t even begin to explain the concept of magic to a psychologist without sounding like a loony tune. It is safer this way that he would only know this as a bad and very vivid dream he has every so often. A beautiful dark haired woman comes into his nightmares and acts like she is going to kill him. The closest diagnosis they could come up with is “femme fatale” desirous-atitis, or some such medical mumbo-jumbo. Gaius would have made sense of the stuff, he had the desire to be a doctor.

With a shake of the head, Merlin woke up from his heightened state and stares at the man before him—he looks an awful lot like his old friend, Leon—the smile on his face the same and everything. He brushed imaginary dust from his pants as he stood up and reached out his hand.

“Thanks again for the time, I’ll be on my way now.”

Before Leon’s doppelganger could respond, Merlin was gone again.

 

**46.**

When Morgana said he was meant to save the world, Arthur laughed—right up until it turned out she was serious.

Apparently it was his _destiny_ , except that he wouldn’t be able to do it without the help of some sorcerer who had put himself into a deep sleep. Which, naturally, had led to Arthur standing in a field with Morgana, listening to her recite some ancient spell.

The sorcerer showed up in not only a shower of sparks, but also a gust of wind, a swirl of fire, and the sound of the ocean roaring in the background. It was impressive enough, if not kind of totally overdramatic.

So while Morgana had been telling the truth, it still didn’t change the fact that—

“I am _not_ Arthur Pendragon!” he shouted.

“Yes, you are,” the sorcerer—Merlin, his name was Merlin—said, insistent. “I’d recognise you anywhere, not because of your face or your name. You have the same soul. I’ve been _waiting_.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Arthur retorted. “My name is Arthur de Bois, I don’t _know_ you, and we are _not_ having sex!”

It didn’t matter how attractive Merlin was, with his blue eyes that turned gold and his cheekbones and his slightly-too-large ears. Arthur was not going to sleep with someone he’d just met, and especially not someone who kept insisting that he was someone he most certainly wasn’t. 

*

Arthur watched the bright red bolt of colour head toward Merlin and acted without thinking, flinging himself in the way of it.

Merlin’s magic had a soft, gentle glow to it, whereas Nimueh’s had a vivid, cruel edge, and it felt even nastier when striking him in the chest. Arthur was thrown back, his head slamming into something solid and unyielding.

Suddenly, there were images pouring into his mind, almost too fast for him to see.

Then, darkness.

*

When Arthur came to, it was to the sight of both Merlin and Morgana hovering over him.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Morgana said, clearly trying to sound unaffected despite the look on her face telling him otherwise. “We brought you back to the safe house. While it was a stupid move, it gave us the advantage we needed to take care of Nimueh, though she won’t be the last.”

As Morgana spoke, Arthur’s gaze drifted to Merlin, who had yet to say a word; he was biting at his nails and frankly looked dreadful.

“You’re fine, though,” Morgana continued, “since both of us have magic, we managed to heal you right up.”

Merlin brought his fingers away from his mouth. “Morgana, do you think I could speak to Arthur alone?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Morgana had barely shut the door behind her when Merlin turned on Arthur.

“You _prat_!” he nearly hollered, and _oh_ , how Arthur had missed that. “You don’t have any magic! What were you _thinking_ , getting in the way of her attack? I mean hell, it was easier when you were getting knocked out thanks to your own stupidity.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, quietly, and Merlin immediately paused mid-rant.

“Yeah?”

“Merlin, I remember. I remember you, I remember _everything_.”

Merlin seemed to freeze in shock at the confession, and if Arthur wasn’t mistaken, there might have been tears welling up in his eyes. “You really are an ass,” he finally said, and Arthur held his arms out, unable to stop his smile as Merlin practically flung himself into them, and then they were kissing.

In no time at all, their clothes were being shed, and Merlin had his legs spread with three of Arthur’s fingers knuckle deep inside his arse. It must have burned, but Merlin made no complaints, only whispered a word, and suddenly Arthur’s fingers were coated in a smooth, sticky substance.

_Huh. Magical lube._

“Do it,” Merlin begged, “just do it, I’ve been waiting.”

Arthur could deny Merlin nothing, and his cock was quick to replace his fingers.

Their coupling was fast-paced; Arthur was mostly aware of the gloriously tight pressure around his cock and thrusting desperately, keening as he felt Merlin rocking downwards in return, his hands firm on Arthur’s shoulders with his head thrown back.

When they came, together, Merlin leaned down to kiss him, and Arthur could tell that he was sobbing. “I missed you so much,” he said.

“It’s fine, Merlin,” Arthur reassured him. “It’s fine, I’m here, I won’t leave you again.”

They clung to each other, unable and unwilling to let go.

 

**47.**

Arthur’s favourite thing about his newly surfaced magic was the multitude of ways in which he could fuck himself. 

In review of all the truly awe-inspiring things like shape-shifting, telekinesis and saving lives, this may have been a bit of a dick thing to say, but Arthur (like everyone) could be a bit of a dick. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the life-saving with Merlin and the other things which helped the world as a whole and kept things in order, but really, at the end of the day, he was only human. And like most people, he just wanted to kick back, relax, and stick his dick into something warm. 

It just so happened, though, that unlike those without magic , Arthur really didn’t need anyone but himself (in spite of what Merlin said, especially because they’d tried that once, and decided that platonic life partners would just have to do). 

Arthur had tried relationships with others, but as a bit of a superhero, he was busy, and relationships were complicated, so being the trouble-solver he was, Arthur found a solution.

The solution was spread out on the bed in front of him now, wrists tied to the bedposts, a spit-shiny red ball gag in his mouth. He strained against the restraints, all his power and might, but they wouldn’t budge, magically enhanced and all. 

Arthur would often just stand at the foot of the bed and admire the body before him, perfectly toned and sculpted by endless hours of working out. He loved every inch of it. 

Arthur knew that there was no other person in this world he could please more than himself, or who’d know him better than he knew himself, so his solution was just that – creating a version of himself to perfectly suit his needs. 

Tonight, other-Arthur was subservient; he wanted to please Arthur more than anything. He had already, magically waiting on his knees in the foyer for Arthur to get home then welcoming him with open arms and an open mouth, hot and wet around Arthur’s dick before Arthur even got his shoes off. 

He made Arthur come within minutes, without even using his hands but to undo his trousers. “To take the edge off,” he’d said with a cheeky grin before swiping his thumb at an errant drop of come trickling out the corner of his mouth. 

But Arthur hated surprises and ambushes, so he had to punish other-Arthur, and he was, right now, twisting the dial for the vibrating plug inside other-Arthur’s hole. He loved the way it made other-Arthur thrash and bite down around the gag, tears streaming down his temples, cock straining in the cock ring, hard and red and leaking. His whole body had a gorgeous flush to it, a beautiful sheen of sweat highlighting all the muscles and the hours he’d already spent just like this, on the very edge of orgasm, the threshold of pain and pleasure. 

For his own part, Arthur enjoyed this very much, he was hard, too, stroking himself idly before finally turning off the plug, tossing the dial and climbing on. He ran his hands up other-Arthur’s legs, knowing how much he loved it, practically feeling it himself, then teasing with the barest edge of nails on the inside of his thighs, loving the way other-Arthur moaned and had to strain not to kick out if he wanted to come tonight. 

But Arthur himself had waited long enough, so he pulled the plug out quickly, relishing the wet pop, before tossing it aside and sliding himself in between other-Arthur’s legs, then fucking into him right away. 

Other-Arthur trembled beneath him, crying through the gag while Arthur gripped his perfect hips and pounded into his perfect hole. Nothing ever felt as good as this, no other hole – pussy, arse, or mouth, ever felt as good as this. 

It was definitely narcissistic, but Arthur loved being able to watch his own reactions, how he looked when he fucked himself, how only he could make himself feel. It made him feel like god, and it’s what made him come, shoot his load into other-Arthur, fill him up completely. 

In the after-glow, he even indulged in a kiss around the gag, then he stroked other-Arthur a couple of times before finally letting him come. It splattered on his stomach, painting his muscles in white. Arthur loved rubbing it all in, marking himself in a way only magic made possible.


	7. Group C (No Warnings)

**48.**

Gwen awoke feeling very queer, sort of nauseous and a touch light-headed, but it was not until she lifted her blankets that she realised what was wrong.

Her nightdress had ridden up when she was asleep and down between her legs, where just yesterday had been a perfectly normal set of lady parts, was – well, a cock.

Gwen edged a hand down to touch it. It was solid and evidently real.

Now, she thought hazily, really was the point where it would be appropriate to panic, but she did not. She got out of bed, combed her hair, and dressed herself.

She had to adjust her new appendage thrice on her way to work. By the time she reached the Lady Morgana’s chambers she’d been reduced to an awkward shuffle so as not to dislodge it.

Morgana was up already, sitting at the table in her nightgown, frowning at the book she’d been reading the evening before when Gwen had blundered in on her practicing magic. She slammed it shut. “Gwen!”

“Good morning, My Lady.” Gwen bobbed the most awkward curtsy of her life. “What’s that book you’re reading?”

Morgana flushed scarlet. “It’s nothing. It’s a magic book. Merlin found it,” she said. “It’s very – interesting. Fetch my undergarments, won’t you?”

When she turned back from the cupboard, Morgana was just slipping her nightdress over her head, exposing all her beautiful, perfect skin, and as was often the case at this point in the morning Gwen got butterflies in her stomach.

What was less normal was a new and inexplicable cock deciding to show some interest. Gwen felt her face heat as it stirred under her skirts. _No_ , she willed it, _oh, no_.

“Gwen?” Morgana looked at her, standing stock-still, afraid to move. Then, horror of horrors, her eyes flicked to Gwen’s crotch. “Are you –”

“My Lady, I –” Gwen swallowed and glanced down. Her _condition_ was quite evident now. “I just woke up like this – I don’t know what –”

“Oh, so it _did_ work!” Morgana exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

“My – my lady?”

“I’m so sorry, Gwen.” Morgana hurried to the table, still stark naked. “It was supposed to be for me – it must be because you interrupted just as I was finishing it.” She opened the book.

Gwen looked at the illustrations and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh!”

“I can fix it now if you want,” Morgana clutched the book in both hands. “although – if you really don’t mind – can I see it?”

Gwen hesitated, then – feeling bold – raised her skirts. The cock was pressing tight against the white cloth of her undergarments.

“Well, that doesn’t look comfortable.” Morgana reached out and pulled Gwen’s undergarments down. The cock sprang out, bigger and thicker than it had been that morning – which was only natural, Gwen supposed. “Oh!”

“I know,” said Gwen, “it’s –”

“It’s lovely, Gwen,” Morgana breathed. Then she dropped to her knees. “Do you mind?”

Gwen wanted to say something but she knew that if she so much as opened her mouth a torrent of nonsense would flow out as it always did and ruin whatever moment they were having, so instead she just nodded.

Morgana dipped forward and pressed her lips to the tip of Gwen’s new cock. Gwen felt a shudder run through her like a bolt of lightning. “Oh,” said Morgana. She reached up and wrapped a hand around the head of it, drawing back the foreskin – and then she kissed it again.

Gwen‘s knees trembled. She was certain she was going to fall over any moment. But Morgana was just playing. She drew back, toying with the foreskin again.

“My Lady –” Gwen’s voice shook.

Morgana shushed her and stood up, her hand still clutching the wet head of Gwen’s cock. “I just wanted to see.” Then she kissed Gwen, tongue slipping into her mouth, and Gwen thought her insides might be melting.

Morgana’s hand tightened around the cock, squeezing and pulling, and Gwen felt things tighten and release. She squealed as she came – not better than usual, no, but different and new and _exciting_.

“My Lady.” Gwen pulled back, suddenly feeling quite apologetic.

“Gwen,” said Morgana. “ _Gwen_.” She cupped Gwen’s face in her hands and kissed her again, gentle. Then she drew back and began murmuring the words of a spell.

Gwen felt a tingling, then an unpleasant slithering of parts rearranging.

“See? It works.” Morgana smirked and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to take you to bed now.” One of her hands slipped up Gwen’s skirts. “If that’s quite alright.”

“That would be perfectly lovely,” Gwen said.

 

**49.**

Merlin squints at the glaring sunshine invading the tiny kitchen of their flat.

Arthur mumbles a rough, sleep-deprived, "Morning." His neck’s peppered with enough love bites that Gaius would probably want to check for leprosy.

Merlin just grunts and heads for the teapot -- it’s full, the tea steaming hot and perfectly steeped because while Arthur might be a bit of a slut, he’s still a brilliant flatmate.

They eat toast and butter in silence. Somewhere between the first sip of tea and the fifth, Merlin notices Arthur’s hickeys have disappeared. Maybe he should be worried about that, but then maybe it’s just a trick of the over-bright sunshine.

\---

Even with his door closed and a movie playing on his laptop, Merlin can still hear the snogging happening on the couch in the living room.

Sandy (Sophie? whomever Arthur’s brought home tonight) is passing directly outside his door on the way to Arthur’s room when she says, “I’ll be right back.”

The bathroom door clicks shut.

Trying not to think about Arthur’s date getting into something more comfortable, Merlin turns up the volume. It works until the banging starts.

“Arthur? Arthur!”

Merlin can hear the growing frustration in her voice. There’s more banging and Arthur’s shouting by the time Merlin gives in and pauses the movie. He steps out into the hallway and Arthur’s in his boxers talking to the closed bathroom door.

“What’s going on?”

“Sophia’s stuck in the loo,” Arthur says to him, then louder to the door, “Just turn the lock, Soph.”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Sophia says, patience clearly gone. “I know how to open a fucking bathroom door, you fuckwit. This one is broken.”

They get the door open, eventually. It just pops open like it’s been waiting for something. Sophia pauses long enough to scowl at Arthur before slipping on her heels, shoving a pink lace something into her purse and storming out of the flat. 

Merlin’s quietly amused and offers for Arthur to join him in watching the rest of the movie.

\---

Then there’s the time Gwaine’s zipper gets stuck, the time all Arthur’s condoms somehow dry out and crack inside their packages, and the time Arthur’s phone stops working and it costs him a chance to date Vivian.

Neither of them seem to want to mention the strangeness of it all.

\---

When the fire alarm goes off mid-fellatio and Arthur accidentally bites Percy’s cock, Merlin realises what’s happening. 

The moment before he’d been listening to Percy’s (way too loud) filthy mouth go on about Arthur’s talents. In a flash of jealousy he’d wished Arthur would slip and use some teeth. 

\--- 

“I’m a terrible person,” Merlin says to himself after Percy leaves, walking gingerly in his tight jeans. 

\---

Merlin promises himself he’ll stop now that he understands, but the flat’s been quiet lately anyway, ever since Arthur stopped bringing anyone home. They often sit on Merlin’s bed and watch movies together. It’s nice. Merlin has no love life so it’s not an issue for him to just stay in, and Arthur’s company gives Merlin the warm-glow of _home_ in his chest. It’s really quite nice.

\---

Arthur’s already on Merlin’s bed when Merlin gets home from work.

“Staying in?”

Arthur shrugs. “I was planning on hitting the pub, then the front door jammed,” Arthur says, not looking up from scrolling through Netflix on Merlin’s laptop. “How did you get in, anyway?”

“I don’t know. It just opened.” Merlin shoves Arthur over because his ass always inches onto Merlin’s side before the movie’s half done. “Not _Die Hard_ , Arthur. I refuse.”

\---

Guilt can be a terrible thing, eating away at you constantly, but Arthur’s shoulder is warm and solid at Merlin’s side, making it easier to ignore.

\---

When Arthur’s lips wrap around his cock, Merlin knows Percy was right: Arthur’s mouth _is_ made for giving head. The love bites he leaves all over Arthur’s body don’t fade for ages; Merlin likes to poke at them just to watch Arthur squirm.

At night, sweat cooling and come dripping from his ass, Merlin forgets how they even got to this point. It doesn’t seem to matter anyway.

 

**50.**

Having magic wasn’t like having skills at drawing or leadership. It was more like having blood rushing in one’s veins or having skin; it was purely physical, and Merlin barely even noticed having magic, before something reminded him. He could imagine a time when having magic had been natural, had been talked about aloud, but in the modern world where wonders were new technical solutions and cures for diseases, magic had no place.

Magic had made itself known especially when Merlin had been going through puberty. Then for the first time in his life had he realised how magic affected everything in his life, including physical and sexual aspects. When he took himself in his own hand for the first time, Merlin made the lights flicker, and when he came, the light bulb exploded to millions of pieces, and the sound alerted Merlin’s mum. In time he had learned to control his magic while he was pleasured, but sometimes there was a slip, because how could anyone fully control a thunderstorm or blood leaking from a wound or an orgasm? Merlin had scared more than one lover away with accidental magic during sex.

Arthur was different from all his other lovers though. Arthur’s sister had magic as well, and he knew better than others how having all that power leaking over and out of control might look like. Arthur’s sister Morgana had once almost burned down their house in the aftermath of one dream of a teenager. It had taken Merlin long to tell Arthur about his magic and even longer for them to become lovers, but when it finally happened they were both prepared.

The light flickered a bit when Arthur pushed the first finger inside.

“Just electricity problem. Don’t pay attention to it. Just look at me,” Arthur said and pushed another finger in almost too soon.

He kept on going just like that. One finger, one touch, some words that kept Merlin’s focus in Arthur instead of his magic.

But there was the sense of power flooding through him. It was moving just under the surface, just under his skin, and Merlin knew his magic well enough to know he couldn’t hold it in if he lost his concentration even for one second.

“Arthur...” he said, trying to warn Arthur about what might happen soon.

Arthur shushed him quiet and kissed him to stop him from talking. Something thumped on the floor in the corner of the room, and this time it had probably been just a pile of books and nothing that would break.

After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Arthur pushed inside Merlin, and a there was another flicker of light and the sound of something falling down, even though Merlin wasn’t that interested what it might’ve been anymore. The magic was leaking out of him now, and Merlin probably should’ve been worried about what the neighbours might think he was doing, but he wasn’t, and when he finally came, all the things from furniture to small objects shook slightly for a moment and then stopped.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think?” Arthur said smugly and rolled on the other side of the bed. “Nothing valuable was broken.”

Still basking in his post-coital bliss, Merlin looked around in the room. Everything had moved some inches from its original place, but nothing valuable had, as Arthur had said, been broken. It was still probably weird to have to clean up the whole room afterwards after fucking. Merlin wondered if Arthur was up to doing it for more than one time.

“Your eyes turn golden when you do magic. Did you know that?” Arthur asked him when they’d both caught their breaths. Merlin shook his head and waited for any other reaction. Disgust, rejection, something.

But it didn’t come.

And if anything, Arthur appeared to be pleased that he’d made Merlin come with such a force. Well, when he thought about it, it should’ve been obvious to Merlin. Arthur had always been competitive, and no way was he going to perform worse than some of Merlin’s other lovers, Heaven forbid.

As long as Merlin wasn’t setting anything on fire during the night, they were going to be just fine.

 

**51.**

Merlin's heart skips a beat when he sees the mangled body in a heap of parts, before his brain catches up.

It's in decent shape, except for the hole where exposed cables protrude from ragged but real-looking skin and the mark on the face like a bad bruise, below one empty blue eye.

The back of its neck is rough, serial numbers filed away, but he recognises the style of the Camelot series. Everyone's seen the glossy ad vids.

When Merlin touches it, something sparks under his skin like static and his eyes feel hot. He can't go deeper, not out in the open like this. But that's how he knows it's not dead and why he hands over the creds, more than he probably should for a broken droid. He ignores the yardman's lurid grin.

*

He takes it to Gwen first, because she's better with hardware.

"You'll need a pro-shop for the skin," Gwen says, examining the wound critically. They both know that's too risky.

"Just do what you can," Merlin says.

*

The way his mum tells it, when Merlin was five, he crawled into her lap and did something that made a password dialog come up. While she tried to move his childish hands, some keys were pushed, that were, coincidentally, correct. The next day Hunith lost her job. Machines don't work like that, they said.

At 12, the secret police didn't believe him either, so he showed them. When his eyes flashed hot and golden, one of them pissed himself. They beat him so badly he couldn't see for days.

There's benefits. One of his parlor tricks is to order food that's not on the menu screen and have it appear in the meal slot.

It's also why he lives underground, in a room full of screens, taking jobs from anonymous sources that pay handsomely and don't ask questions.

* 

It's called Arthur, model no. 48690317. Even if the droid is one of a thousand replicas, Merlin can't keep thinking of him as "it." Not when he has a name and he's lying naked on Merlin's bed.

At some point, Merlin will have to find him some clothes.

The codebase is heavily encrypted, but Merlin has a couple programs he uses for this kind of work. After about 14 hours, he's swimming in Arthur-world, scrolling through layers of complex algorithms. He can sense the edges of the AI architecture, tantalizingly buried, but he makes himself run the diagnosis and repair modules first.

Merlin gets himself a sandwich. Nothing much happens. After a while, Arthur's skin feels warmer.

*

Merlin wakes up to that same feeling, only more intense, like electricity buzzing through him, and he must be having a wet dream, only instead of fading away, it just gets better.

The room is barely lit by the red diodes of his sleeping machines, and when he looks down, he sees Arthur kneeling over him, his mouth on Merlin's cock, moving up and down, relentless. 

Arthur's eyes glitter at him, and it _feels_ like a real mouth, hot and tight with just a hint of teeth, and then Arthur takes him deeper. Merlin bucks up, beyond thought, coming in wracking spurts down Arthur's throat.

"What the… hell?" He manages, panting. "Are you - ? I didn't even think you were functioning."

Arthur settles next to him, gloriously naked. He licks his lips and Merlin wonders if there's a piece of code somewhere that lets him taste it.

"Looks like you fixed me."

"So you did that in what? Gratitude?"

"Service robot," Arthur replies, as if that explains - anything.

"Um. Question. Does that mean you serve me?" Merlin asks.

Arthur doesn't answer, because that's when Merlin's proximity alarms go off, and he's out of bed as fast as his wobbly legs will carry him.

"Oh, shit," he says, tapping at a screen. "We need to get out of here."

*

Merlin has a plan for this eventuality, which amounts to: low lay and let it blow over.

Arthur has other ideas. Like knocking out the cops try to ambush them, stealing a transport, and sneaking into Avalon Tower.

Merlin's never hacked anything this big before, but when he connects to the interface, he can feel the system spreading out for him like a dark city. Arthur is at his back, strong and solid, and Merlin reaches inside him and finds the information he needs, slides it like a key into the lock.

And changes everything.

 

**52.**

“Arthur, what did you do?” Morgana pushed her way into Arthur’s flat. Any patience she had for him had been lost after having to grow up with him. Over the years he had gotten himself into a series of mishaps and mayhem that no one would actually believe if she tried to tell them.

This, by far, was the most ridiculous.

“I really don’t see how this is my fault.” He quickly closed the door behind her and crossed his arms over his chest. The movement put on display the still bleeding scratches on his forearm. 

“It was his fault.” a voice said from under the bed and Gwen poked her head up looking exasperated. She gave Arthur an apologetic look “I know you of course didn’t mean it to turn out like this.” Arthur only pouted more.

“You haven’t been able to find him?” Morgana directed her question to Gwen, turning her back to Arthur.

Gwen shook her head frowning “The second I entered the flat he hid.” A hopeful smile crossed Gwen’s face “Maybe if we get some tuna?” 

“Yes, because that’s something I would just keep around.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled in disgust “I am perfectly capable of finding him on my own; there is really no need for either of you to be here right now.”

Morgana’s mouth tightened “Yes, I can see just how capable you are.” She swept her arm out to indicate the flat that was bare of the presence of Arthur’s boyfriend of the past three years.

Arthur sneered at her “Did you ever consider the reason he hasn’t come out is because the two of you are here. He was perfectly content with me.” 

Morgana huffed looking pointedly at the scratch on Arthur’s arm. 

He dropped his arms defensively rubbing at the mark “It was an accident.”

“Yes, just like this was clearly.”

Gwen interrupted their bickering “I think he might be right about us being here, I think we’re the reason Merlin hasn’t come out yet.” She smiled softly at Morgana “If we move out of the way we might go to Arthur?”

Morgana ignored the smug look Arthur was sending her and conceded with Gwen, following her over to the couch. They both drew their legs up under them and sat quietly, waiting. Arthur settled on the floor, his back against the door as he crossed his legs.

Not even half an hour had passed when Morgana glimpsed a flash of black from the behind the hamper. The kitten that crept forward was fluffy and small, bright blue eyes throwing them a suspicious look before it padded slowly towards where Arthur sat.

Arthur’s eyes softened as he saw it and his voice was low “Come here Merlin, I doubt you want to spend the rest of your life like this.” He held out his hand and Merlin sniffed it, whiskers twitching. Arthur gently picked him up and cradled him against his chest. He stood from the floor, the small kitten securely held against him and indicated for Morgana and Gwen to approach.

Merlin looked at them apprehensively for a moment before losing interest and going back to where he was gnawing on Arthur’s thumb. 

“Really Arthur?” Gwen sighed exasperated.

Arthur looked guilty “All I said was he was a sex kitten, I didn’t expect this to happen.”

“You know Merlin’s magic likes to please you,” Morgana examined the kitten reaching out with her own magic to feel the threads of the transformation “he’s been sick lately, it’s no wonder he lost control of it with how tired he’s been.”

“I know that now,” Arthur scratched the kitten behind the ear “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Morgana pulled the thread of magic holding the spell in place and it crumbled, Merlin reverting back to his natural state before their eyes. Morgana turned away to give them some privacy and caught Gwen doing the same, a blush on her cheeks.

The transformation had taken place after Merlin and Arthur had spent the entire weekend in bed together. They had been breaking in their new flat and celebrating Merlin feeling better after a run in with the flu. Merlin had just got done riding Arthur and had collapsed on top of him laughing when Arthur had made the comment.

When he’d realized the kitten kneading his side was in fact Merlin he had called Gwen. Gwen in turn had Morgana.

Morgana heard a groan of embarrassment behind her and finally laughed. 

 

**53.**

Arthur’s stomach growls, and Merlin laughs through his nose - pops off Arthur’s dick long enough to press a kiss on his belly, give it a few pats.

“It’ll be over soon enough,” he says, and rolls his tongue delicately around the edge of Arthur’s cockhead. “Think I’ll have a hot dog after this myself.” And then he takes Arthur back in to the root with a ridiculous scarfing noise that makes Arthur’s dick jump in his mouth. He pops off again. “Maybe some sausages.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Arthur says, hooking a leg over Merlin’s shoulder to put him back to work, and Merlin laughs. Goes for it like a goddamn expert, lips all wet and stretched red, and if Arthur watches him for another second he’ll cream himself, render enemas and twenty four hours of no food wasted for both of them.

He tilts his head back and looks at the water stain on Merlin’s ceiling instead, the one they named Walter when they were eleven because it’s shaped like a humpbacked man. Hardly does him any good, though, when Merlin’s fingers rub soft over his taint, before tapping a beat against the base of the plug stuffed tight in Arthur’s arse.

“Jesus,” Arthur breathes as Merlin sends zips of his magic through the tapping, flaring up into him and spreading out.

Merlin pulls off a third time, grins. “God, you’re so hot for it,” he says, tapping some more and grinning wider when it makes Arthur’s hips twitch up involuntarily. “Gonna look so good. Here, let me -” And he gets to his feet, cock absurdly hard and flushed with blood. The sight alone makes Arthur’s toes curl.

Merlin holds out a hand, eyes flashing gold before the camcorder zooms from his desk and into his palm, neat as anything. He flips open the side screen and fusses with the controls, setting them up to go right after the rimjob from last week, and Arthur has to reach down and squeeze himself imagining it, the close up of Merlin’s tongue dipping and pushing into him - his noises -

“Come on,” he urges, and when he sits up, gasps as the plug prods inside, Merlin turns dark eyes on him and lets go of the camera, leaving it to float on its own - which it does, bobbing along behind like a curious animal when he moves to climb atop the mattress.

“You come on,” he says with a little quirk of a smile, knee-walking until he’s in Arthur's lap, and that’s all Arthur needs.

He flips them quick, gets Merlin on his back and sees the camera follow their movements out of the corner of his eye, probably picking up the way their cocks bounce, and it sends heat sparking through him.

“Lube,” he says and then there is lube, cool and slipping over his fingers - more of it as he reaches down to rub where Merlin’s got himself spread.

“Mmm, shit,” Merlin says on a groan, lifting one leg so the camera can nudge into the close space as Arthur presses fingers in, and Arthur knows how it’ll look, sloppy and wet, Merlin’s skin clinging -

He also knows how his own arse looks when he pulls Merlin to the edge of the bed and sinks in with a long, easy push. How the end of the plug sits nestled there, not quite red and not quite pink. How it looks bright and hot zoomed in enough, like it’d sear your fingers to touch it.

And they both know the bit they’re trying to capture, but Merlin still pants out, “Tell me when you’re close,” as Arthur manhandles him into a good position, pushes one of Merlin’s legs forward to prop his arse up and just go for it, fuck into him with hard, jerking thrusts, pulling out on every third or fourth one and letting the camera pick it up when Merlin’s hole gapes open like it wants Arthur back.

He slows the trusting when he feels his balls tighten up. Slows a few times to draw it out longer, listen to Merlin’s alternately low and high whines, but then he speeds it up, fucks quick and deep until, “God,” he gasps. “Yeah - I’m -”

And Merlin reaches to put a hand to Arthur’s chest, stills him while Arthur pulls out enough that only the head of his cock’s inside, the rest of his length twitching, pumping for the camera.

He’ll be glad for it later, when they watch Merlin push the come out on screen, let it run down and drip to the sheets.

 

**54.**

The burn and stretch of blunt fingers inside of him always sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. The man who worked him open - a stranger he had met earlier at the pub - laid messy kisses on his neck and breathed empty encouragements in his ear. 

He wasn’t normally one to take strangers home, but there was something about this one - Martin? Melvin? Arthur didn’t particularly care what Cheekbones’ name was - that changed his mind. His eyes were a fathomless blue and when the man looked at him, Arthur felt stripped of more than his clothes. The stranger made their one night stand feel heavy, laden with intent, and intimidating in a way Arthur wasn’t used to feeling.

The stranger pushed the flat of his palm up his back, his calluses a wonderful rough friction against his sweaty skin, his fingers still working him open with excruciating tenderness. Arthur wanted to command him to stop and fuck him already, but something in the touch stayed his words and choked him silent. The gentle affection was too much, pushed at a fission inside of him, fractured him apart, tugged at the back of his mind. A tingle of awareness whispered that he knew this stranger, that he understood the blanket of sadness in his eyes, but that was impossible. Arthur hadn’t met him before that evening. 

“You ready?” The voice was muffled against his collarbone, its deep gravely drag seductive like a siren.

Arthur nodded, beyond ready to get this rodeo going, and pushed back, urging him to go faster.

Being filled was as heady as he remembered: the sharp white burn and the dizzy and lust-drunk sensation of being stretched full. Cheekbones thrust to the hilt and Arthur’s neck lost the ability to hold his head up. “Come _on_ ,” he urged, when his partner took his sweet time moving again. 

“Always so bossy,” the man murmured against his neck. 

Arthur was about to ask how or why the stranger would say that, but Cheekbones chose that exact moment to draw out and thrust back in, knocking all thoughts beyond ‘Harder!’ and ‘Fuck, _yessss_ ,’ from his mind. 

The previous gentleness was abandoned for a rough, fast fuck that knocked him into the pillow protecting his head from the headboard. Over and over and over, the rough slap of skin and hard push of the man’s dick carving out a spot inside him that he worried he might feel past morning.

The man gripped his hips, hands surprisingly strong, fingers digging into his skin. “Fuck, Arthur, Gods,” and Arthur agreed. Every brush against his prostate sparked behind his eyes and sucked his breath from his lungs. 

The sensation of his balls drawing up and the familiar crescendo of blood rushing through his chest made the world explode in a bright flash of golden light that drowned him in its brilliance.

When opened his eyes, his heartbeat still loud in his ears and his breath ragged and spent, he noticed that everything around him appeared to hover a foot off the ground. He blinked and rubbed his eyes; his orgasm had been good, but not enough to cause hallucinations. When he opened them again his stuff was still floating mid-air. 

His partner was slumped on his back and Arthur shoved him off and sat up. “What the fuck, what the fuck! Martin, are you seeing this?” The man groaned and scratched his head, making his hair look even more ridiculous. He looked around and groaned, which struck Arthur as an inappropriate response. 

“Merlin...” 

Arthur glared. “Whatever, _Merlin_. What the bloody fuck?”

Merlin sighed and dropped his head into Arthur’s pillow. He groaned again before lifting his head and looking at Arthur with an expression he was part annoyance, part apprehension, and part something he couldn’t parse. “There’s something I probably should have told you before we shagged.”

Arthur pinched his brow and vowed in that moment to stop with the one night stands. “Something that explains why my shit is suspended mid-air?”

“Magic?”

“Magic.” He had somehow picked an escaped mental patient up and taken him into his home. 

“Arthur, what do you remember about Camelot?” 

“That it’s not real?” 

The man took Arthur’s hands and looked him straight on. His eyes flashed gold and all of the floating stuff fell back to the ground. “Right. Well. Let me tell you a story then...”

 

**55.**

The first time it happened, it was completely by accident. Arthur had just finished a meeting with the council and Merlin wasn’t there. As king, of course Arthur was worried because of course as Court Sorcerer-Advisor, Merlin should be at every council meeting, hence him marching to said absent Court Sorcerer-Advisor’s chamber. 

The sight that greeted him beyond the doors of Merlin’s chambers was a sight to behold indeed. Arthur had seen Merlin naked before, obviously, during the many adventures they’ve had and still have, but never like this. Merlin was sprawled out on the bed with his head resting against the pillows; his lower lip caught between his teeth and the flush on his skin ran from his face to his chest, heels planted firmly on the mattress with his legs spread wide. What made Arthur want so bad is the fact that both Merlin’s hands are bound to the headboard; he was pleasuring himself with his magic.

Arthur knew he should just leave and let Merlin be, it is in fact, a private moment he had no rights to barge into, but he couldn’t help watch how Merlin’s cock was hard and straining against his bare stomach, the head flushed and leaking with precome. Arthur could feel his mouth salivate. If only he could just touch, taste, suck Merlin. He wanted so much but he knew he could never have this one thing.

Just when Arthur had made up his mind and resolute on leaving, preparing an apology speech in his head for later, bright golden orbs opened and stared straight right into his blue ones, and Arthur froze. Next thing he knew, he fell backwards into a chair with his breeches already down to his ankles and his cock was already hard. He wanted to tell Merlin of all the reasons why this was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t do this, that Merlin deserves so much better than a tryst, but he couldn’t.

Arthur might be a noble and just King, but he was only a man. He had needs that have been repressed for so long he couldn’t fight it now, not when Merlin’s looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered. He reached down and started stroking himself slowly, loving how Merlin’s eyes grew hungrier at the sight. He brought two fingers into his mouth and sucked, moaning at how frantic Merlin’s magic was stroking his cock. 

He brought his slicked finger to his arse and teased his hole; he’s done this before in his chambers, when Gwen is sleeping in her own, with his fingers deep inside him, moaning Merlin’s name when he comes, then washing himself while berating himself for being so shameless. Arthur slid down the chair even further so he wouldn’t hurt his wrist, and pushed one finger slowly inside, his breath coming out in puffs of warm air, and distantly he could hear Merlin moan and possibly whispered brokenly ‘more’, so Arthur slid another finger inside. 

Not wanting to waste time, he worked out a steady rhythm and pumped his fingers, adding another every few strokes, hitting his spot over and over. Merlin’s breathing became heavier, following every soft moan Arthur let out, and before Arthur could even relish in the sounds Merlin’s making, they both came at the same time, and were both moaning each other’s names.

They just sat there, trying to catch their breaths. Merlin whispered something foreignly familiar, and then Arthur felt clean and crisp, trousers already done and laced, but Merlin was still lying on the bed, not looking at him.

He should leave, Arthur thought, but instead, he walked toward the bed, reached down and lightly trailed his fingers along Merlin’s face. That one touch was all that was needed before Arthur left the room, for the next night, Merlin came to his chambers, not a word spoken between them except Merlin’s ‘I want this’, and they did what they did and it became a routine.

Arthur knew Merlin deserved better, but he wanted Merlin too.

 

**56.**

The sky rumbled with the drone of airships, but all Balinor heard when he found the scrap of a girl camped on his doorstep was her unbelievable, "I hope you're packed."

Gaius was no help. "If anyone can get you out alive, it's Hunith."

"She's a child."

"She's nineteen."

"She said no magic."

"Because she knows magic's why you need to run, you idiot. Trust me. She'll lay down her life to get you beyond Uther's reach. She might look helpless, but she'll surprise you."

In the end, he had no choice. Gaius's prediction came true when they encountered their first roadblock, three of Uther's finest, perched on the low roofs of adjacent pumphouses. Hunith shuttled him to the shadows as she slithered to the corner and pulled a long strip from beneath her fingerless glove. Crouching down, she blocked his view until sparks danced away from her. That's when she bolted back to his hiding place, the rust coating the wall beginning to glow white-hot behind her.

They slipped past as the guards scrambled to stop the building from melting. 

"You said no magic."

"That's science. Thermite, actually. Lucky for you Uther likes his men to have brawn, not brains."

"Must be why he never cared for me, then."

With a roll of her eyes, Hunith continued clambering down the slag heaps.

Their first night was spent in the bowels of an abandoned mine, long ago bled dry of its coal. Separate sleepsacks. Mutual decision.

Night two came early. A random patrol caught them unprepared, driving them up a tree until their smoking vehicles lumbered past. 

"I could get rid of them with one spell," he whispered.

She glared at him. "No magic."

Separate sleepsacks was the only way to keep from throttling her for refusing obvious aid.

Before dawn, snapping in the undergrowth woke him. When he spotted one of Uther's automatons through his monocular angling its camera toward them, he murmured the spell automatically and aimed the fireball directly at its lens.

It blew up with a sizzling pop. Sagging against the trunk, he met Hunith's wide eyes and scowled. "It would've reported us back to Uther. Magic isn't always bad, you know."

Her throat worked. Balinor braced for the scolding to come.

"Thank you," she said.

The Hunith he walked with on that third day was different to the one he'd started with. This one allowed him to lead occasionally, as well as asked questions about his life that carefully avoided the reasons for his flight. When they ended in a small cave at the edge of rebel lands, she was the one who shoved him to the wall and sealed their mouths together.

He didn't waste breath asking what the hell she was doing. His hands fit around her soft hips like she was made for him.

"So magic's not always bad?" she rasped as she tugged his shirt free.

Balinor shook his head. His mouth was too busy sucking and biting at her taut nipple through her thin blouse. Corsets were perfect for thrusting breasts up into the perfect position for it.

"Show me."

Her demand startled him into pulling away, but her searing gaze refused to back down. He glanced toward the cave's mouth and hid it from outside view with a single word.

Hunith smiled. "So now I can be as loud as I want."

"I'd never ask you to be to be anything but who you are."

Somehow, he ended up naked first. The coarse wall scraped his back, while Hunith's desperate nails raked along his shoulders and arms. She kissed like the world was ending, leaving him raw and hungry for more, and when he finally muttered the spell to get her stubborn pants out of the way, he dipped his fingers into the slick heat between her thighs.

She climbed up his body and clung to him, quivering and expectant.

"They say I'm dangerous," he whispered.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Arrogant. Maybe." 

With the shift of her body, she caught his cock and sank down, shuddering when he was fully buried. Her lips sought his as his hands curved around her perfect bottom, and for long seconds, neither moved, unable or unwanting, didn't matter. Beyond the cave, the world was changing, but here, all that mattered was the slip and slide of their sweaty flesh, her cries when she came, the murmur of her name when he followed soon after.

That night, they only used one sleepsack.

 

**57.**

The first whack to his backside came as an outrageous shock. Arthur stopped midsentence and whirled around to see who had dared to swat the royal posterior.

No one was there. Arthur frowned and turned back to the council table. “Who did that?”

Around the table he saw only raised eyebrows (Gaius, Guinevere, Gwaine), stoicism (Leon, Elyan, Percival), and sniveling cowardice (Lord Rathgar, at whom Arthur had just been shouting). No one showed any signs of a guilty conscience.

Arthur cleared his throat. “So. As I was saying, Lord Rathgar, your stupidity in this—ow!”

The second slap hit harder than the first. Arthur had to look down to make sure he was still wearing trousers. No corporeal hand could have stung his bum so sharply through the thick fabric.

Instinctively, he looked toward his sorcerer for the answer. It took him a moment to remember that Merlin was in Nemeth, because Mithian was too cheap to hire someone to take care of her magical problems full time. 

It took him another moment after that to remember their fond parting embrace and Merlin’s soft words in his ear. “Just don’t be a prat to everyone while I’m gone, yeah?” And then he had given Arthur an affectionate slap on his arse.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said out loud. Slowly, Arthur sank down into his chair, ignoring the slight tingle in his buttocks as well as the look of abject terror on Lord Rathgar’s face. “I am absolutely going to kill him.”

***

Whatever hex Merlin had left on him, it clearly disagreed with Arthur over what prattish behavior entailed or how many times in a day Arthur engaged in it. Could he help being a bit grumpy while Merlin was away? Merlin ought to find it flattering, the ungrateful, idiotic— _oh!_

By dinner time, his seat felt warm and just on the pleasant side of sore. It took until the final course for Arthur to realize he was actively grinding his arse into the chair to intensify the feeling. “Huh,” he said. 

Instantly, George was at his shoulder. “My lord? Do you wish something else?”

“Nothing you can give me,” Arthur snapped, and— “Oh!” There it was, an extra-hard spank to his sorest spot. Oh, he did like it. His bottom tingled and the tingling was spreading down into his balls. All he needed was a warm hand to rub that tingly feeling around and then smack him again to make it better.

Oh yes, he like this very much. Merlin was an ungrateful, idiotic, _genius_.

***

Merlin whistled a happy tune as he swung off his horse. He looked up and grinned to see Gwen tearing down the steps to meet him. 

“Hullo!” Merlin called and waved. Gwen and Leon both had begged him not to leave, citing how intolerable Arthur would be by the second day without Merlin to keep him in line. But Merlin had fixed that little problem, and he couldn’t wait to collect on their effusive thanks.

“Thank the gods you’re back.” Gwen nearly fell against his chest and wound up clutching huge fistfuls of his tunic as she glared up at him. “Don’t you ever leave again unless you’re taking him with you.”

Merlin could feel his face falling. “Oh no. He can’t have been that bad. Can he?”

“He was a monster, Merlin,” Gwen said. “He was rude and entitled and critical and... and....”

“A prat?” Merlin finished with a sinking heart.

“Until he locked himself in his chambers two nights ago. No one’s seen him since. Thankfully.”

Merlin considered that, until some things about Arthur and his habits both in and out of bed finally pieced themselves together. “Er,” he said, “I think I may have miscalculated something.”

***

He didn’t bother knocking when he got to Arthur’s rooms, but just waved his hand over the lock until the door swung open. Merlin stepped inside, locked the door again behind him, and then sighed.

There was his King, face in his pillow, arse in the air, mumbling to himself and frantically pulling between his legs. His plump cheeks shone bright red, and Merlin could almost make out the individual prints in the shape of his own hand.

“For God’s sake, Arthur,” he said.

Arthur turned his head and grinned at him from under his sweaty fringe. “Merlin! Do you have any idea what a frightfully incompetent sorcerer you are? Ah!”

As Arthur’s body jerked under the force of the magic blow, strong now with Merlin’s presence, his sorcerer shrugged and headed for the bed, reaching for the lube as he went. He might have to concede that his plans needed some work, but like his king, he was prepared to make the best of it.

 

**58.**

Percival was looking forward to his first evening off patrolling in weeks. Unlike the other knights, he had no desire to spend it in the tavern. Instead, he convinced the laundry maids to let him use a tub for a hot bath. After a long soak, he slipped back to his quarters.

He was about to snuff out his candle when he heard a soft knock on his door. Without waiting for his response, the door swung open and Gwaine strode in.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but I thought you were on patrol tonight.”

“Switched with Leon.”

Percival was about to ask why when Gwaine spoke. 

“I have a surprise for you.” Gwaine pulled a vial out of his pocket and waggled it in front of Percival's face.

“What is that?”

“It's a magic potion.”

“What does it do?”

“It's a magic _sex_ potion,” Gwaine corrected. “It's supposed to 'increase virility and passion'.”

“And what does _that_ mean?”

“I assume it means it'll increase my already exemplary sex skills.”

Though Gwaine was boasting, he wasn't wrong. Sex with him was usually perfunctory, but satisfying. They both got off, quickly in whatever hidden moments they could find, and it was good. 

Percival almost turned him away, set on getting a full night's rest, but part of him was intrigued. Since they found out about Merlin's magic, he was curious to experience it in some way, and Gwaine looked so eager, Percival couldn’t say no.

“All right, yeah.”

“Really?”

“You could use more virility.”

Gwaine shot him a dirty look, but he uncapped the vial, sniffed the contents, and then shrugged before taking a swig. He passed it to Percival.

Percival brought it up to his nose tentatively. It didn’t smell much different than the tincture Merlin gave him the last time he had a fever. He took a deep breath before draining the vial.

Percival glanced up at Gwaine and was startled. He wondered if magic could work so quickly, because Gwaine _looked_ different. There was a new intensity to his gaze; his eyes were wide, pupils blown. Percival's stomach somersaulted, and suddenly he was light-headed.

Gwaine stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. Percival did the same. 

“Sit on the bed, against the wall there,” Gwaine ordered.

Percival did as he was told. He fixed his eyes on Gwaine who stalked toward him, straddled his lap, and then leaned down to capture Percival's lips in a bruising kiss. 

Gwaine tugged at Percival's bottom lip with his teeth, sending a shiver down Percival’s spine. Then Gwaine moved to his neck and found a spot behind his ear that seemed connected to Percival's cock.

“How did you know?” Percival panted.

“Magic,” Gwaine whispered, and nipped at the spot again.

Percival could only respond by gripping Gwaine's arse cheeks and squeezing, pulling Gwaine forward so their cocks brushed. Gwaine groaned into Percival’s mouth. 

It had never been like this. Every inch of Percival's skin was at attention, greedy for Gwaine's touch.

“I need that giant prick of yours inside me or I'm going to die,” Gwaine murmured.

“Gods,” Percival moaned.

Gwaine grabbed the oil from the shelf by the bed. He reached around and slicked himself before sinking slowly down on Percival's cock. Percival’s heart raced. Gwaine was everywhere, and it wasn’t enough. They fell into a frantic rhythm with Percival thrusting up and Gwaine slamming back down until they were panting in exertion. Percival tried to fight off his orgasm, not wanting it to end, but Gwaine was overwhelming him—the space between their bodies was nonexistent. 

He tried to reach a hand in between their bodies, but Gwaine brushed him away. 

“Don’t need it,” Gwaine panted. Percival felt it then. As Gwaine came, his channel tightened and it wrested Percival’s own orgasm from him.

“Well, that was intense,” Percival finally said.

“Yeah, I—”

“Stay,” Percival blurted out. He was still determined to get a good night's sleep, and Gwaine was warm and pliant.

“Okay,” Gwaine whispered, and he settled in, fitting easily at Percival’s side.

* * * 

The next morning Percival ran into Merlin. 

“Thanks for the potion last night, Merlin.”

“Percy, I have to confess. There wasn't any magic in that potion. I couldn't find the spell, so I just added some clove to the fever tincture.” 

 

**59.**

Holding Merlin against the headboard, Arthur shoves into him in an uneven rhythm that he knows is stretching Merlin’s hole just past the brink of pain. Yet Merlin writhes against the smooth wood of Arthur’s headboard, his fingers scraping against the surface as he whines and takes every bit of Arthur’s size and strength. Arthur grips Merlin’s hips as tightly as he can and pours his focus into the drive of his hips, pulling Merlin’s body back so he can bury himself as deeply as possible in that tight heat, in attempt to drown out all the troubling thoughts. 

He tries not to think of Merlin’s eyes glowing gold. He tries not to think of the way Merlin extends his hands, his incredible, terrible power flowing out invisible to the eye. 

But Arthur does, and it fuels him on despite himself. It drives him to have Merlin rammed against the headboard, mewling and scrabbling at the wall beneath the force of Arthur’s onslaught. 

As Arthur’s peak finally starts to claim him in the intoxicating clutches he sought, his fingers squeeze another set of bruises into the smatterings already adorning Merlin’s waist. Merlin works a hand desperately over himself, quickly chasing his own high before he feels the burst of Arthur’s white-hot release in the deepest reaches of his body. 

When Arthur slowly starts to draw out, aftershocks still coursing through him and the final bursts of his seed trickling onto Merlin’s skin, Merlin whimpers at how stretched-open and empty he feels. 

Afterwards, as Arthur slowly relaxes enough to let Merlin free, he things of the soft way Merlin likes to move his fingers across Arthur’s skin. He thinks of the way the bed’s always warmer with Merlin curled against him. The smile on Merlin’s face when Arthur named him his court sorcerer and consort. Arthur feels ashamed. 

After Merlin finally manages to lie down and catch his breath a bit, he reaches out to touch Arthur’s back.

“I know why you do it… Always after I’ve used magic during a council meeting or an audience.”

Arthur’s moved to the edge of the bed, looking down to the floor without really seeing anything. “I’m sorry…. I don’t know what to say.”

“You know you have nothing to fear or doubt from me.”

“Of course I know,” Arthur replies immediately, then breathes out loudly as he turns. A frown pulls at his face from his frustration with his own behavior. Merlin hates the way it looks, moving near enough to touch the corner of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur has that troubled look, where he has more to say but doesn’t quite know how.

“Tell me,” Merlin murmurs, moving back into Arthur’s space and kissing softly along his jaw, to cure Arthur’s tenseness and reconcile the distance.

Arthur breathes out, treading lightly through the muddle of his thoughts.

“It’s…remnants of the way my father taught me to think. A force that could wreak havoc and leave me helpless to do nothing but watch, causes something in me worse than fear. It’s…failure.”

Merlin pulls back to see his face, while Arthur’s leaning into him again, now that the words are out. Merlin just smiles fondly, reaching up to trail his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“How can one mortal, even a great king, expect to control everything in the world around him? You expect too much of yourself.”

“That’s probably true.” Arthur’s hands have crept back to Merlin’s waist, fingers brushing softly over the light bruises there. 

Merlin leans back into the pillows and Arthur follows him down, lying close above him as Merlin’s hands settle along his shoulders.

“My love for you makes me helpless,” Merlin says in a musing voice that’s just an easy truth. “As much as I do enjoy when you…get rough,” Merlin adds a wiggle of his eyebrows and a flash of a roguish smile, and Arthur can’t help chuckling at the resurfacing of his familiar old manservant. 

Then Merlin’s fingers touch the shape of his cheek, and immediately they’re lovers again, who’ve shared all forms of intimacy.

“It’s these moments that really subdue me… make me solely yours for the ruling.”

“Merlin…,” Arthur leans in to taste the bare sincerity he knows he’ll find on Merlin’s lips.

“I only hope I deserve that,” Arthur murmurs as they wrap each other close, lying side by side.

“You probably don’t, you great prat, but it doesn’t matter. Whether you do or don’t – I would pledge myself to you a hundred times over.”

 

**60.**

Merlin had asked him once, if Arthur could feel it—magic in the air like something alive, something to be wrapped in like a shroud and cradled by. The night had hummed with it, the earth panting beneath their feet like it was feverish with power. 

Arthur had shaken his head, none the wiser about what was engulfing them, suffocating him. 

He wonders if Arthur can feel it now, the same current flowing from his fingertips that infused the air that night. He wonders if Arthur knows that it seeps into his skin like a sponge, leaving trails across his body like ribbons of gold. 

Arthur's skin tastes like magic and Merlin chases it with his tongue, cherishes every inch of Arthur's body he is given, an offering Arthur does not realize he is making. Arthur trembles under his touch, pliant and conforming, and Merlin shapes him into an idol, an effigy, something to be worshiped and revered in a way that Arthur will never understand. Merlin prostrates himself at Arthur's feet, in Arthur's bed, and it feels so much more immense than that night in the clearing ever did. 

He wonders if Arthur can feel it, the thrumming under Merlin's skin, the searing heat of his touch like there is fire in his blood. Arthur's skin erupts in his wake and Merlin drinks it in, the air heavy with so much more than their breath. 

 

Gwen had suspected, unsure of the atmosphere that oppressed her, that spoke of something outside her experience. Merlin had been tentative in turn, whispered into her skin until she calmed, opened to him, let the weight in the air settle around them like it belonged. 

Merlin's fingers had been soft against her skin, his touch fleeting, the heat more so.

He had molded her, too, like clay under his hands; but she shed his touch as easy as breathing, and his magic had rolled off her skin like sweat, like water, to collect unimportantly at her feet. 

 

Morgana had known immediately, even if she didn't _know_ , sensitive to his touch the way no one had been before. Her skin had sung out to him, her blood pulling him at him like a magnet; and he had gone, helpless in the face of the fury that simmered just beneath the surface of her very being, that threatened even then to drown them both. 

 

He had never been sure about Lancelot, because Lancelot knew his secret from the very beginning, knew that the gold of his eyes was just a show, a physical manifestation of something so much deeper, so much _more_ ; and if Lancelot's skin broke out in goosebumps at his touch, well, that could've just been _him_.

 

Gwaine had been easier, so much easier to read: The wonder in his eyes, like he wasn't sure if Merlin was real; the hesitation in his touch, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed; the reverence of his kiss, of his lips that dragged across Merlin's skin, like he was wasn't sure if he was worth the opportunity he had been given. 

Merlin had soothed away all of his doubts like balm on an open wound, giving and giving and _giving_ until Gwaine had come undone under his hands, his body resonating with magic and everything that Merlin was. 

 

Merlin had asked Arthur once if he could feel it, and he wants to ask again but he won't: This time, he will make certain that Arthur can. He will make Arthur's blood run sluggish with magic and he will make Arthur's skin shimmer bright with gold: Down to his bones, a glittering, forbidden thing. 

He will give Arthur everything he can, everything he _is_ , as much of himself as Arthur can hold.

 

**61.**

Arthur looked at the men and women that were sitting at the bar, subdued with unseeing eyes but a smile on their faces. Like lunatics. Perhaps he had made a mistake. 

"They're high," a boy, told him, "high on magic and sex. That's what you came here for, isn't it?"

He'd heard the stories. Stories about magicals using their power to give men and women pleasure such as they had never known. Those practices were banned from Camelot a long time ago. But this was Cenred's kingdom Arthur was passing through after a frustrating diplomatic mission. He'd earned a diversion.

He looked the pale boy up and down. He seemed unimpressive, like a twig, easy to snap. But his eyes, glowing gold and the wicked grin on his face were more than a little intriguing.

"How much?" Arthur asked. 

The boy leaned in close, "Nothing you couldn't afford, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur reeled, how did this peasant know his name? He should have struck the boy; instead he answered the matching grin. "Impressive. Tell me _your_ name then, young warlock?"

"It's Merlin." Suddenly smiling blindingly, he took Arthur's hand leading them to a small bedroom at the end of the corridor.

Arthur expected the whorehouse to have large beds with velvety cushions, smelling of sex and wine. But the room was simple, shabby and cluttered, matching Merlin's poor state of dress. 

He didn't quite know how they went from Merlin, on his knees before him, sucking his cock so hard Arthur saw stars, to Arthur, on the lumpy bed, on all fours with his arse in the air. But he did know that this was the best anyone had ever made him feel. Merlin licking him down there, tongue pushing inside and kisses covering the sensitive skin. Then something very different from a finger had pushed inside, deep and unrelentingly pulsing against that place that made his cock twitch. Magic. It was inside of him and soon it was everywhere. 

Every inch of his skin was suddenly hypersensitive and every bit of it felt like it was being touched. Merlin's magic instinctively found all the places the made Arthur moan, like the inside of his knees, his nipples, even his bloody toes. All the while those strings of magic entered and left Arthur’s body, fucking him from inside out. 

Considering the stimulation, Arthur didn't expect to last. He felt his balls tighten and he was sure he was tipping over the edge when suddenly a pressure at the base of his cock staved of the orgasm. He groaned. Merlin's magic was truly devious. 

The pleasure was almost too much and soon his was bucking against Merlin’s sinful lips, listening to greedy sounds the warlock made. 

When Merlin did finally let him come, Arthur felt boneless and breathless for several long moments. "There's more later," Merlin whispered, before Arthur succumbed to sleep. 

He woke up with a craving, body tingly and cock twitching. Taking in his surroundings, the events of the night before slowly came back to him. When his eyes fell on Merlin, his heart missed a beat. 

Merlin was watching him. A string of rope, magical, Arthur thought, looking at the tinge of gold in it, tied his hands to the bed. His legs were spread wide in invitation. 

"I'm giving you what I know you want, Arthur. Fuck me, make me _feel_ it. I'm entirely at your mercy."

Knowing that it really was the other way around, despite Merlin's bound hands, he complied. His finger pushed between Merlin's spread legs, finding him already wet and loose. He shivered before losing himself completely in the tight squeeze of Merlin's arse. 

Soon, he felt a new pulse of magic, this time it joined Arthur inside Merlin, stretching Merlin's arse even further. Arthur continued fucking in abandon, relishing the sensation of dual stimulation and finally collapsing after the second orgasm of the night. 

Magical bonds falling away, Merlin fell asleep in his arms. The boy looked so innocent, so young. Yet the pleasure of having his body and his magic, being given it so freely and enthusiastically, was already like an addiction. Arthur would not let him go. The thought of Merlin providing these 'services' to a random stranger was unbearable.

"You're coming with me," he whispered to Merlin's sleeping form and the ghost of lips touched his chest, as if Merlin was sealing his promise with a kiss

***

Merlin smiled as the Camelot citadel came into view. He'd always known his prince would come. His magic had done its job, destiny would do the rest.

 

**62.**

"Merlin." He called out into the seemingly empty room. He had no idea what the kid's real name was. All mediators and protectors were issued new designations when they reached level 2. Hell, Arthur barely even recalled his own birth name. It had been so long since he'd heard it.

"Merlin!" he shouted this time. The fool ruined his perfect time management. 5 minutes to remove security. 3 minutes to make arrangements for a safe return. 8 minutes to take out the target. A total of 16 minutes for the job to be done with a 4 minute leeway. 

The time adjuster on his wrist said he had been in this shifted phase for 22 minutes. "Shit" They would need to climax now to get back. Anything past 20minutes required a damn heat session. 

"Sorry. sorry." Merlin phased, nearly stumbling into existence about 6 feet in front of him. 

Idiot. Arthur echoed his thought out loud before continuing, "We're two minutes over thanks to you trying to save the puppy." Arthur closed the distance between them and pulled Merlin into his arms. "No one said anything about saving puppies _Mer_ lin."

"No one explicitly said I couldn't either. He'll got a nice home now." The young mage sighed looking pleased with himself which only made Arthur more infuriated.

"I swear I end up having more sex with you than actual time manipulation."

"This is a problem because…?" Merlin teased before kissing Arthur lightly on the lips and pushing his hand past Arthur's **D** iscretion **B** arriers. 

"They monitor these missions." and until he was assigned this 'permanent mediation', he only needed to kiss his partners to get back to their own reality. He never even thought to wear a DB until the third time he arrived at the dispatch station half naked and covered in come.

"Of course they monitor, and they know we did our job. Now make my endorphins go fuzzy oh prat of mine." Merlin rolled his eyes at the same time as he moved his fingers down to grip Arthur's cock.

Arthur huffed at the indignity of it. If the sex wasn't so bloody fantastic he'd lodge a formal complaint, but as it stood his heart rate elevated to the required percentages just at the touch of Merlin to his bare skin. Stupid bastards in HR, with their Insight Pairing Database. Arthur was starting to hate those damnable fortunetellers even more than he hated how hard he fell for Merlin.

A beep from his time adjustor encouraged him to get on with it almost the same way Merlin had. 

The young mediator's DB shimmered when Arthur's hand passed through it to smooth warm skin. He couldn't resist leaning in to start a deeper kiss, one where he could taste the coffee and muffin Merlin had before the mission, and make his partner moan out more encouraging little sighs of need.

Merlin hooked a leg up around Arthur's hip, and with his free hand Arthur helped guide it in place. Merlin did this on the last mission too, nearly climbing Arthur as they humped into each other's fist, and since they both only wore DB's it was delicious full body naked friction, just the right kind of thing to ramp up those endorphins for the final tug through time.

Arthur steadied his balance, taking more of Merlin's weight onto his hip and slid his hand up Merlin's thigh. The pacing of each stroke between them fell into a familiarly perfect rhythm that increased in tempo and grunting pleasure down to his core. The time adjuster beeped once more as a warning to Merlin's climax. As always, knowing his partner was that close right before it happened and feeling Merlin's tense build up of power forced Arthur's own alert to sound seconds after.

Unthinking, he bit down on Merlin's lip as he came. He couldn't help it. He got carried away. Unfortunately, damage done, the speed of the shift ramped up and slammed both of them through to the station almost instantly. They landed in a heap of uncoordinated appendages in their handler's office rather than the landing bay.

"Shit." Arthur swore.

Merlin let out a soft giggle that quickly turned to post orgasmic/situational laughter. 

Gaius, their handler, raised a playfully judgmental brow. "You'd think with all your years of service Arthur, you would know that pain play isn't required unless the mission goes on for more than 4 hours."

 

**63.**

She wakes up sobbing, clutching a wound that isn’t there. The afterimage of blazing hate in Merlin’s golden eyes and cool steel sliding into her stomach far overwhelm everything else, and reality seems subjective. Gwen comes rushing in, murmuring soothing placations, and Morgana holds her, instinctive, disbelieving, and weeps for them all.

\---

Every night she falls asleep and expects to wake to someplace else, and every morning she wakes to a Camelot where Uther is king, Arthur still loves her, Gwen is still her demure maid, and she is still alone. For weeks she feels as though she walks in a dream, her visions of a bleak future feeling far more real than this surreal Camelot of old.

It isn’t until she hears Arthur complain about an insolent peasant with impossibly large ears that she begins to believe, dread, hope.

\---

Morgana waits, warring between enjoying the easy, comfortable pattern the four of them have fallen into and heeding the warnings her nightmares still give to her, but after Ealdor she knows she can’t put it off any longer. The seeds have been sown, and she can’t allow them to grow up to strangle them all.

She sits them down, and everything begins anew.

\---

She would like to pretend that everything after that is easy. That Arthur accepts the magic, that Merlin replaces his lies for trust, that Gwen’s naïveté transforms into wisdom, that she never feels the shadows of anger and hatred threatening to invade and ruin everything –-

\-- It isn’t so easy.

\---

When Morgause arrives, Morgana is tempted, if only for a few, long minutes, to run to her, to sob into her shoulder and let her sister take care of her again. She dwells on the thought longer than she cares to admit, remembering lips and hands and the feeling of being completely adored --

When the bracelet appears in her chambers, she turns it around in her hands for what seems like eons, and it isn’t until she slips it on her wrist that she stops herself.

She takes it down to the village and trades it for a set of hairpins. The look on Gwen’s face when she slides it into her maid’s hair later that night helps to ease the longing in her heart. Some.

\---

It takes Gwen getting kidnapped, Arthur nearly committing fratricide, and she and Merlin nearly being arrested by Aredian, but they’ve finally come together. It’s sure to be messy and hard and so much more complicated than first glance, but for once, she stops thinking of ‘what if’s and just lets things be.

\---

Morgana sobs and pants, clutching at where Gwen’s thighs are resting on Morgana’s shoulders, and licks up into wet heat. She’s on sensory overload – Arthur’s fucking into her at a deliciously bruising pace while Gwen’s sat on her face, Merlin’s sucking at Gwen’s breast, and everything is a sweaty, passionate haze. The huge four-poster bed is a tangle of sheets and limbs, edged in gold as Merlin’s hand finds hers and tendrils of magic shoot out from the both of them, exploring and seeking and caressing. One tweaks at one of her nipples and tightens around it, warm and tingling and almost electric, and it sends her over the edge, seeing gold and bliss and promise.

\---

It isn’t so easy, but when she sees the crown placed onto Arthur’s head, she can _feel_ the magic in the air sing about the Camelot that is to be. She looks at them and sees the future: the king, the queen, the sorcerer, the seer --

She beams. 

 

**64.**

“You’ve never been with one of your kind, have you?“

Merlin worried his lower lip.

“Thought so.” Mordred smirked. “The great Emry is too much of a coward to get it on with another warlock.”

“I’m not!” Merlin knew there was something to it. He knew how to bring pleasure with his magic but had never allowed it for himself. Of course, there had been lonely nights where he might have used magic to pleasure himself, but that was different, wasn’t it?

Mordred leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “So, what have you done to others? This?” His eyes flashed golden and Merlin’s clothes vanished. 

All at once, he felt vulnerable and shy, fighting the urge to magic his garments back on. 

Laughing, Mordred came closer, got up on his toes and licked Merlin’s cheek. “How about this?” A flick of Mordred’s wrist and Merlin’s hands were tied in front of his body. “Do you like it that way?”

Merlin chewed on his lower lip and closed his eyes. For how long had he wanted this, how lon had he denied himself the pleasure? “Yes.” He was ready for someone else being in control.

“Do you trust me?”

No, he didn’t. He’d never trusted Mordred, but he wanted this. 

“You don’t.” Mordred chuckled as he shoved Merlin backwards onto the bed. “Of course not. But you still want it so bad, don’t you?”

Just as he was about to nod, Merlin gasped. Mordred’s magic had wrapped around his dick and started to caress him in ways he hadn’t even imagined possible. Merlin groaned and arched into the touches. He needed more and Mordred knew it.

“Say it.”

“No.”

The magic was gone and Merlin almost whined. 

“Say it. Say that you need it, that you want it, that you have waited your whole life for this.”

Merlin struggled. He wanted this from Mordred, but that didn’t meant that he would beg for it. But…”Please?”

“Fair enough.” Mordred laughed and the magic was back on Merlin’s body. 

It felt so different from his own, like strange fingers reaching for him, caressing his skin, pinching and tweaking his nipples. Merlin closed his eyes and moaned.

He heard Mordred chuckle and Merlin’s eyes flew open when he felt magic penetrating him. “You’re not…”

“You wanted my magic, not me. How often did you do that to others, Emrys? How often didn’t you date to get physical, but let magic do the job for you? How long will you wait for someone who will never return your feelings?”

Merlin’s magic flared up. Why did Mordred have to bring Arthur up now? 

“Oh,” Mordred laughed, “sore spot, isn’t it?”

“Let me go.”

“No. You wanted this, you will get what you asked for.”

Struggling against Mordred’s magic that was stronger than he had thought, Merlin groaned in frustration. 

But then his eyes fell shut and he moaned in pleasure when he felt magic pushing against his spot.

“See, you want it.” Mordred smirked.

“Yes,” Merlin yelled out, “yes, I want it. I need it! Give it to me, come on, druid!”

A lazy smile on his face, Mordred leaned his shoulder against the bed post and let his magic work Merlin’s spot harder. 

Merlin cried out when he came and then the magic was gone. He shivered and drew some forced breaths. 

Mordred came over and pressed a kiss on Merlin’s head. “Send for me when you need me again, Emrys.” 

 

**65.**

It starts with an old man in a vest.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” says Arthur, when Giles says, “But you’re a _boy_. Oh, dear, something must have gone terribly wrong,” and then again, three weeks later, after Arthur’s world has been turned upside down, and Giles concedes in the most unconvincing tone that – “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do.” 

Turns out being the Slayer sounds a lot cooler than it actually is, but Arthur gets used to killing creatures that don’t exist, and people ignoring him when they don’t believe him. He does what he has to do. 

(He’s a hero is what he fucking is; the shadows would be most happy to confirm that if only they’d be slightly more talkative.)

*

Another slayer gets recognised while he’s a little bit dead. It’s ridiculous, really.

She’s apparently a lot more feminine, as one would expect of a slayer, not that Arthur can particularly tell. 

Her name is Morgana and she looks at him like she thinks he might die any moment, before punching him in the face, and then again, and then she saves his life on the next mission. 

“Don’t get used to it,” he tells her, and she grins for the first time ever before she slaps his arse.

“Now we’re even. Next time, I’ll break your face, brother dear.”

Slayers aren’t strictly required to be mentally stable. 

Of course, Arthur could have told you that.

* 

They don’t talk about the goblet. Or the unicorn horn.

Or how Arthur lost his parents at thirteen. It’s a good deal. 

Giles is really like a father to him. They talk about as much.

* 

“Merlin? As in the great wizard Merlin? With the beard?”

“Well, since the turn of the 16th century, it’s been Merlin the vampire. The beard makes the occasional appearance, yes, but not as often as you’d imagine,” says Giles.

“He’s all yours,” says Morgana. She’s definitely warming up to him.

*

“It’s an honour,” Arthur tells him, before sending him sprawling on the floor.

“Really,” he adds, when Merlin’s (beardless, surprisingly young face’s) only reaction is to stare, stare, stare some more and also lie very still.

It’s almost a relief when the wooden stake doesn’t do the job. There’s always a price to pay.

*

Arthur routinely decapitates vampires for less than a living and has seen things most people could never dream of, but somehow, no one ever saw fit to tell him about magic.

He can imagine why, when it skates up his spine in a happy burble that renders him immobile and also really, really stiff. Like a plank. On a ship. A really tiny plank. It’s a thing.

“You’re evil,” he tells Merlin. 

“Well, now you just sound like your father,” he says, and seriously, there’s no reason for Merlin to sound either that happy or smug, aside from the paralysis and incidental localised stiffness.

Or the opportunity to kill Arthur, which he doesn’t. 

“You’re a real mystery!” Arthur shouts after him, but Merlin just turns around, smiles, and says, “All part of my charm,” and then, “Ha, _charm_ ,” and Arthur supposes the centuries must have got to him, because that’s just not funny at all. 

*

So, not so much with the vampire thing. The magic thing, on the other hand… Arthur would be mad, except he just killed six demons in a row without breaking a sweat, the magic flowing from Merlin’s fingers to Arthur’s, flowing all the way through him, and he’s never felt that powerful or in control. 

Or aroused, but that’s a minor detail. Well, until Merlin grips his neck and says, “Well done, sire,” like that’s a fucking sane thing to say, so Arthur kisses him because – 

“No, really, shut up.”

“You know I never do,” Merlin says, and then kisses Arthur back like his life depends on it.

Arthur’s not even holding a stake. 

Oh, well.

*

No one told him about magic and how it races up and down his spine and his fingers and his teeth and how he just can’t get enough of it, so warm and happy and like the home he doesn’t remember.

Like Merlin’s mouth. 

“You like it?,” Merlin murmurs. “Tell me you like it. Fuck, you _love_ it.” Merlin’s eyes glow a joyful, disbelieving golden before he says, “It will always protect you. Always.”

And OK, that’s too many tears for Arthur, but he can lick those off as he sits on Merlin’s cock; it’s only polite, after all.

*

He was made for chasing evil, Arthur was, and Merlin’s mouth is decidedly wicked. 

He might just chase it for an eternity. 

 

**66.**

It takes him awhile to notice. Too long, maybe, but he'd had had a lot going on since arriving in Camelot. Armor to polish, prats to save, secrets to keep. So yes, maybe it was staring him in the face, but he is to be forgiven for not noticing straight away.

He touches himself thinking of Gwen one of his first nights in that glorious room that he has all to himself. She'd been so sweet, bringing him a bit of bread and water to tide him over until he was released from the stocks that evening. She was beautiful, not like any of the girls in Ealdor, and he brings himself off with images of sliding a sleeve of her dress slowly off of her shoulder.

The next day it's nearly nightfall before she will look him in the eye, but Merlin chalks this up to guilt and paranoia. 

When Lancelot makes his way into Merlin's life, Merlin finds his newfound privacy compromised. He doesn't mind sharing his quarters with Lancelot, didn't mind at all. Didn't mind it so much that when he's stumbling around the armory polishing Arthur's armor for the third time (for reasons Merlin STILL doesn't understand) his mind maybe wanders a bit. It's quick and rough, but there is time enough to envision exactly what it would look like if Lancelot dropped to his knees and...

He makes it back to his room and collapses on the floor, hardly sparing a glance and the man sleeping in his bed. The next day Lancelot is all ducked glances and small smiles, and Merlin assumes he is nervous about combat trials and thinks nothing more of it.

It's not until ages later that Merlin finally gets a clue. And he doesn't get it on his own. He has help.

He's been having...thoughts, about Arthur and literally all of his knights. Thoughts that accompany actions. Quite often. Possibly nightly. He notices, only just, that his interactions with them are suddenly awkward. That Percival gives him a little more space than he used to, that Elyan won't be alone in the room with him anymore. It makes no sense. Until it does.

"So!" Gwaine leans against the wall and watches as Merlin puts Arthur's pauldron in place. "I had an interesting dream about you last night." 

"Oh?" Merlin says, disinterested. There's a weak spot he hadn't noticed on the pauldron, he should probably see to it soon. 

"Very interesting." Gwaine is giving Merlin a look that...well. A look that Merlin stops to pay attention to. A look that he wasn't really expecting Gwaine to turn his way.

Gwaine pushes off the wall, crowds into Merlin's space enough to whisper "Turns out I'm not the only one who's been having interesting dreams about you, Merlin."

Merlin swallows. Gwaine's close enough that he can feel the heat from his body, sweaty and loose from practice. "I don't-"

"Meet me back here once you've got Arthur sorted for the night," and Gwaine leaves, walks away without a look back. 

Merlin's nervous as he makes his way back to the armory, half convinced that he's got this all wrong. But when he opens the door, Merlin knows he's made the right decision. He turns to close the door behind him and Gwaine comes up close, wraps his arms around Merlin's waist.

"How are you doing it?" Gwaine asks. "Not that I'm complaining." He pushes his nose against the back of Merlin's head, burying his nose in his hair. "No one is complaining, to be honest."

Merlin wishes he had an answer. He has a suspicion, but he hadn't known such a thing was possible. If it is the case that his magic is making this happen, that's not an explanation he's about to give up. "I'm not doing anything," Merlin says, but his voice doesn't sound quite right. Maybe it has something to do with the way Gwaine's hand is snaking it's way down his torso, slipping inside Merlin's breeches. "Maybe you just all have really- ah! Really good taste!"

Gwaine laughs before he latches he mouth against Merlin's neck, uses his other hand to loosen Merlin's breeches enough to get room to maneuver. His cock is hard, pressed against Merlin's arse, and it doesn't take long before his calloused hand brings Merlin to a shuddering climax.

"Maybe we do," Gwaine smiles. His hands are strong on Merlin's hips as he turns him around, presses him back against the door and steals a kiss expertly. 

 

**67.**

Elena is the only one to actually cheer a minute after the gryphon goes down, but she's expressing joy for all of them, because she's the only one with any energy left.

"Next time, we should get Merlin to help," Mithian says, as her staff disappears. They long ribbons in her hair don't disappear, and her skirts stay the same length (impossibly short) but Morgana figures that's just part of the exhaustion. Transformations do take energy and none of them have that to spare.

"Magical creatures are the _worst_ ," Sophia agrees. "Maybe next time it'll be something else."

Morgana doesn't point out that all of the creatures they battle are magical. It'll lead to an argument and she doesn't have the brainpower for a debate about the nature of the monsters they battle or the nature of their transformations. All she wants to do is go home and curl up with Gwen.

A hand slides into hers, drawing Morgana's attention back to the situation, and she attempts to smile at Gwen. It feels awkward on her face, but Gwen's returning smile is beautiful, even with the exhaustion lining her features.

"Let's go home," she says. 

Home is comfort and sleep and Morgana is out before her head even hits the pillow, still dressed in the too short skirt that is their uniform, complete with heels and cleavage baring tops. 

When she wakes up not even an hour later, panting and wild-eyed, Gwen is there next to her, and they are both back to plain clothes. The sheets are a mess and Morgana knows her hair must be tangled. But Gwen's there, blinking sleepy eyes at her, and Morgana can't bring herself to care about anything else. 

"Why are you even awake?" Gwen asks. "I feel like I could sleep for days and still not be rested."

"You can go back sleep. It's not a big deal." 

Gwen sighs at her, like she does every time Morgana tries to pass off her visions. "Come here, you," Gwen whispers, and tugs Morgana down. "It is a big deal. Stop trying to act like they're not."

"I just want-" Morgana pauses, unsure of what to say, what she wants. It's hard to pinpoint, even harder to formulate those desires into words. 

"I know," Gwen says softly, cutting off Morgana's train of thought. Her hands slip beneath Morgana's shirt, curling around her back, soothing and comforting. "I know."

She does know, and that's one of the best things about Gwen. Morgana turns her head and presses her lips against Gwen's. 

Gwen smiles; Morgana can feel it, rather than see it, and it makes her smile in return. "Is that what you want?" Gwen asks, with a soft laugh. "I can arrange that." And then there is shifting, and Morgana is disoriented for a moment, until she settles back against the pillows, Gwen stretched out over her.

They're both too tired for anything intense, but Morgana likes this, the slow rocking of their bodies against each other, and the soft, lingering kisses. Gwen strips them both to their underwear, tossing their shirts aside, pushing down their skirts. Morgana doesn't even realize they're mostly naked until Gwen's hand is sliding down her body, and she loses herself in the simple pleasure of touch - specifically, Gwen's touch.

Even when Gwen has her fingers inside Morgana, turning and twisting, the pace is slow, and Morgana finds it strangely calming. There's none of the usual franticness of sex, just the comfort of her girlfriend in her and around her, and when Morgana's orgasm hits, the lingering tension from earlier disappears. 

"Better now?" Gwen asks, as she withdraws her hand, and shifts, as though to move away from Morgana. Morgana makes a desperate sound in her throat, reaching for Gwen, and Gwen immediately curls back against her. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. Just pulling up the blankets." 

Morgana nods, but wraps her arms tightly around Gwen. 

"What about you?" Morgana murmurs, struggling to open her eyes.

"You can pay me back," Gwen says, with a soft laugh, and it makes Morgana smile again, as she drifts off back to a dreamless sleep. 

 

**68.**

That this became his go-to default for sex had been pretty much an accident. Merlin was fond of _things_ , one might call it sentimental, and the unfortunate side effect of not dying was that other people did. A lot. It had started with Arthur. His father before that, really, his mother, Freya (sort of), Will, ... other people. Not that many other people, maybe.

He was sitting over a tea, an iPad, and a fair bit of crap music, looking out over the sea and lost reminiscing about his life. Things were easier now than they had been when he'd stood by and just watched them die. They'd been easier ever since he'd wrapped his mind around the spells and drawn matter tight, only to set it in stone.

He owned the estate now, independently wealthy and always supporting just the wrong party. No one quite knew what he was doing here, he was a private person after all. And, granted, the walls were high enough.

Merlin had been down in the morning, but when he slid his hands into his briefs his cock was filling again, already. He left the iPad and the news that changed every other decade and made his way into the basement. The air crackled with energy, magic sizzling across his skin as he walked deeper and deeper.

The lights turned on as he stepped in, illuminating the rows of beds along the walls. This was, crudely put, the copulation section. Others were in rooms further along but he was here most of the time. Heart monitors bleeped low, sinus curves, drips.

They all had their eyes open. Some of them had been here a few hundred years, others two. He'd never gone looking for any of them. He'd never looked for Arthur or any of the others either, but one moment he'd been miserable on his own, the other he'd been miserable with _missing_ as the subtitle to every action, person-shaped holes all over his existence.

"Hey handsome," Merlin whispered into Demi's ear. He'd met him in the fifties, eighteen hundreds, had seen him leave, and watched him, had seen him grow old after. And now as Merlin sat by his bed and stroked through his hair, lower, went for his cock as he slid onto the bed himself and curled close, it was like the music was playing again.

"Something was on the news today, you'd have thought it hilarious," Merlin said just before he pressed his lips to Demi's face. He had a little something of Arthur, the nose maybe, even if Merlin tried to not compare. He tried not to fuck here and show them magic and make them fucking love him back, tried not to stand proud and tall next door, curl up one room over, be a lover, be a friend, be _insert Merlin here_ to _insert person there_. Honest. Even if they all were a bit of Arthur here, the one in the next room a bit like his father, and so on. Maybe he just had types. People had types.

Maybe he was still good at lies, too.

He pulled at Demi's cock, rubbed himself on Demi's leg, as he teased his tongue between Demi's lips. He could ignore the brittle skin and the just-there breathing, the way the magic smelled in the air when he had to reinforce the stasis of life.

He ignored the empty beds, too, when he came in his trousers, tongue deep in Demi's mouth, tasting Arthur in it all. Demi's cock hung limp in his hand, and he didn't have the heart to turn it into anything else. He had more rooms if he needed them. No reason to let any of them go ever again.

The doorbell rang upstairs. He pulled himself off the bed and closed the door to the cellar behind him, magic sizzling. It was just the mail. Right then, he had a few hours until the evening.

 

**69.**

What else was Merlin supposed to think when Arthur said “I’m entirely in your hands?” He was raised a country boy, where a hand job in the river or a quick toss in the hay was a common occurrence. Not that he’d ever been one of _those_ country boys, but his mind certainly was.

So after Arthur found out about the magic and asked with the most adorable blush Merlin had ever seen if he could be enchanted again, that’s immediately where Merlin’s mind went again.

He had to ask, just to make sure. “Are you, er, entirely in my hands?” Merlin said with a meaningful raise of his brow.

Arthur’s blush deepened but he nodded with as much dignity as he could muster given the circumstance. “Yes, Merlin, I am entirely in your hands.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Merlin!”

“Right, okay, getting on with it then.” Merlin put his hand on the top of Arthur’s head. His hair was really soft and Merlin made a mental note to start there once he said the spell. “ _Mod wæs cræftleas_.”

Arthur’s eyes drooped and he teetered a bit but then he snapped to attention.

Merlin tried it out. “Can I pet your hair?”

“Of course.” Arthur immediately bowed his head. Merlin reached out a hand and ran his fingers through it.

“Wow, that’s…that feels really nice,” he remarked.

“Can I look up now?” Arthur’s voice was muffled.

Merlin took his hand away. “Oh. Yes.”

When Arthur raised his head, he was smiling. “It feels nice because I have a really good servant that washes it for me. Did you want me to wash your hair? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to wash your hair.”

Merlin blinked. “Um.” Actually that did sound quite nice. It’d be refreshing for Arthur to bathe him for once. A nice hot bath, with strong fingers kneading his scalp… “Yes. But you have to stay here. I’ll go get the tub.”

Merlin was half out the door when he realised why that wouldn’t work. He’d told Arthur to stay put before and he had followed anyway. It seemed like some part of the spell required the enchanted to stick with the enchanter. Which made sense because then any old person could come by and tell him what to do.

“Actually, I’ll just tell one of the other servants to get it,” Merlin said. He stuck his head out and stopped a passing serving girl. She said she’d be right there with it.

Unfortunately, Arthur seemed to also lose all his coordination along with his will so the whole bath business started off rather messy. Finally Merlin just told him to take his clothes off and get in the tub with him to avoid getting water everywhere.

It was just as relaxing as Merlin thought it would be after that. He sat with his back to Arthur and kept the water warm with magic while Arthur’s fingers massaged his head. Merlin told him to rinse and Arthur cupped his hands and let the water flow down.

With a sigh, Merlin turned around and leaned back on the opposite edge of the tub. He scrubbed his arms slowly, unhurried, not like the way he usually bathed. When he looked up, Arthur was staring at him.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Merlin felt himself blush. “Thank you.” His eyes caught Arthur’s erection beneath the water. “Did you want to…”

Arthur glanced down at himself. “Oh.”

“Come here.” Merlin lifted his feet and placed his legs over Arthur’s legs as Arthur scooted forward. “Here, let me.” He put his hand beneath the water and wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s cock. Arthur gasped.

“That feels good, Merlin.”

Merlin started stroking and Arthur’s hands gripped the edge of the tub.

“Can I… to you?” Arthur asked hesitantly.

Merlin nodded and moved his arm to allow better access. “Go ahead.”

Arthur wasn’t sure of himself like he usually was, so Merlin had to keep telling him how well he was doing. “Yeah, Arthur, just…a little harder. There you go.”

There was a lot of splashing and moaning involved and then finally Arthur came. Merlin jerked his hips up into Arthur’s hands and finished right after.

Merlin told Arthur to kiss him.

 

**70.**

Merlin notices Arthur’s bullshit tolerance is reaching a critical stage by the way he starts to fidget in his seat; his usual polite to the point of fakery smile cracking under the weight of so many suck-ups and pass-the-buck men in the boardroom.

With a quick faux cough into his hand to disguise the flash eyes, Merlin’s phone starts ringing with a phantom call and he excuses himself from the room with a quick nod and a wink to Arthur. After a respectable 2- 3 minutes cooling his heels in the hallway to make the phone call at least _seem_ legitimate he returns to the boardroom to inform the very important people gathered there that Arthur is needed for a very important matter that only he can fix.

As Arthur’s PA he can do that.

As Arthur’s boyfriend he thinks he deserves a little better than a shag in the supply closet as thanks.

“Thank god,” Arthur says as he pulls him into the dark of the closet ignoring Merlin’s squawk of disapproval. “I was about kill them all with my bare hands.” 

He wraps one arm around Merlin’s waist as he crowds them against the wall, his other hand cupping Merlin’s cheek as he peppers his face with gentle kisses.

Merlin can feel Arthur’s hardness through their trousers and pulls away from him slightly with a determined air. While Arthur might be comfortable fucking 10 feet away from the boardroom and all its members, Merlin is not. He knows exactly how far his voice carries and how Arthur likes to make scream in pleasure.

“We’re not fucking in a broom closet Arthur,” Merlin proclaims, while desperately trying to avoid his partners roving hands.

Arthur grins at his challenge and Merlin would slap him across the face for his cockiness if it wouldn’t ruin the loveliness of it all. Instead he presses his weight onto Arthur’s foot and ducks away towards the door while Arthur’s distracted.

He’s captured a moment later with a muttered ‘brat’ and Merlin resists the urge to smile while he denounces Arthur as an arsehole. 

Arthur wraps his limbs around him and stares into his face with adoring eyes, blue clashing upon blue.

“Please darling,” Arthur asks and Merlin startles at the pet name; breath catching and face blushing.

Arthur rests his head upon Merlins shoulder, the very image of subjugation, but Merlin can _feel_ his smug little smile even if he can’t see it. He scowls down at Arthur’s head even while his body relaxes into his hold.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, breathing into the hollow of Merlin’s neck, his hot and heavy weight trapping Merlin along the wall. “Please, I just--”

Arthur places two little kisses to his collar bone as his hands delve beneath Merlin’s shirt, seeking the heat of Merlins skin.

“Goddamnit,” Merlin moans in supplication as Arthur pushes their bodies together more firmly, a rhythmic rutting motion developing between them. Arthur’s lips trailing up Merlin’s throat on a journey of discovery.

“Merlin. Darling,” Arthur whispers into his ear—and Merlin’s body jolts, all of his notions of impropriety vanishing, his better judgement defeated by Arthur’s sweet-nothings.

Arthur kisses him savagely and Merlin’s eyes flash gold. 

Suddenly there is a feeling of skin on skin, and Arthur laughs in delight at Merlin’s impatience, his giggles captured and enslaved between Merlin’s lips until they are transformed into groans of desire.

They part reluctantly to take in air and Merlin can spy their clothes discarded in one corner, crushed and rumpled on the floor along with his resolve.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous like this,” Arthur compliments, taking a moment to view Merlin’s flushed and sweaty body. Merlin scoffs in return as Arthur uses his hands and his lips to caress the planes of Merlin’s torso. Those scoffs become a choked off cry as Arthur sinks to his knees before him to worship his dick.

“Between the two of us, I don’t think I’m the one who’s gorgeous here,” Merlin breathes as Arthur hums around him. Merlin cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair, gripping tight every time he feels Arthur take him in deeper.

Merlin can feel himself on the brink of climax by the time Arthur releases him; his cock throbbing and chest heaving as he struggles to calm his racing heart. 

Arthur stares at him appreciatively, as if he were a work of art. “I want to fuck you, sweetheart,” he whispers and Merlin nods wildly, his eyes glinting gold. 

One second later Merlin's legs are around Arthur’s waist, lube and a condom in hand.

 

**71.**

Gwen turned off the telly and leaned her head on Arthur's shoulder.

"I can't believe it's over," she whispered, wiping quickly at her eyes. "I mean, five years of our lives."

Arthur made a face. "We've done other things in the past five years. We haven't been sat here the whole time." But his voice was rough, and he had to clear his throat twice to get the words out.

"It's just-" Gwen tried to put her feelings into words, the sense of loss now that their show wouldn't be on every Saturday evening in the fall, how she would miss tweeting her reactions with Merlin, would miss Morgana's phone calls later, when they would debate whether this show was single-handedly rolling back all the feminist readings of the legends popularized by Mists of Avalon. Would the kink meme keep going? Would all their fannish friends wander off to new fandoms and leave them behind? To be honest, that was already happening, had been since Series 3.

Arthur pulled her close, his hand curling over her shoulder. "I know."

Their lovemaking that night was gentle. Arthur pulled her on top with her knees on either side of his hips, moving against her gently. He rubbed at the thin skin over her hipbones with his thumbs, his expression soft and turned inward. In his own way, he was grieving too. Gwen framed his face with her fingers. 

"Hey," she whispered. His eyes flickered, clearing, until he was actually seeing her. "It's okay. We'll, uh. We'll get the DVDs."

He looked startled for a moment, then laughed long and hard, head tipped back. "Only you, Guinevere," he choked out, still chuckling.

She kissed him mid-laugh.

***

Merlin sent her a PM the next morning, profusely apologetic.

_**Sorry!** _  
_**From: RusticWizardBoy** _

_Gwaine decided to cheer me up by taking me to the pub and calling the boys out. It was- well, it was Gwaine. He's still sleeping it off._

_Cafe today? Freya's shift starts at 2._

_xoxo,_  
 _Merlin_

She sent a quick reply - _yes, will bring Arthur & Morgana_ \- and typed up a journal post, locking it to her Camelot filter.

_Lunch today @ the usual, 2 if you can make it. I'll buy everyone tarts if you let me cry on your shoulders._

She had 30 comments in under an hour, though half of them were from out-of-towners. (And one sad comment from Elena, stuck in British Columbia for the term.)

Smiling, she called Freya to warn her.

***

The Rising Sun cafe was packed, nearly 3 dozen extremely devoted fans of a popular programme chattering, commiserating, and promising each other they'd stay in touch. Mithien was using the wireless to skype Elena in, so at least one of those fans wasn't taking up a seat, but most of the rest of the room was full. Gwen decided she owed Freya and Sefa a large tip for putting up with this.

"Avengers," Will said knowingly, "or Teen Wolf. If you want the group dynamic, that is. Sherlock if you were only in it for the weirdly hot guys."

"Don't stereotype," Elyan said. "Some fans like the genre and the whole legends bit."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Really, Mr. 'omg, look at that knight's arse'?"

Elyan cleared his throat and got up. "Oh look, Gwen needs me."

He dragged his chair over two tables and dropped into it with a sigh. Gwen watched him, amused. 

"Clearing the field?" she asked.

"Will's a wanker," he grumbled.

"But you'll miss him."

He bit his lip and looked away, and she found herself twisting her hands in her lap. They'd miss everyone.

Across the room, Morgana was explaining the issues inherent in _Lost Girl_ trying to portray a strong female character who was a slave to her sexuality. Morgause was arguing that the debate over a woman's sexual power was one of the most revolutionary themes to be dissecting on a major genre series. Between them, Kara was looking back and forth, eyes wide with wonder.

Elyan was watching too. "Fandom," he snorted. "The fights are so bitter because the stakes are so small."

"But it's what we love." Gwen watched Arthur and Merlin argue about a minor piece of canon, Gaius looking on fondly. "It's who we are."

"Yeah," he agreed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, sis. The magic's not in the canon - it's in the people. And we're not going anywhere."


	8. Group D (No Warnings)

**72.**

[](http://imgur.com/0KzlOwy)

**73.**

[](http://imgur.com/MzUdoKa)

**74.**

[](http://imgur.com/u8d1e5R)

**75.**  
 **Summary:** _I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you._

[](http://imgur.com/SwvSXQ3)

**76.**

[](http://imgur.com/hGokEYj)

**77.**  
 **Magical Orgy**

[](http://imgur.com/d80Cqj4)

**78.**  
Druidic rites have their perks...

[](http://imgur.com/lVhiMWY)

**79.**

[](http://imgur.com/KT0S8Ey)

**80.**  
 **Summary:** Uther discovers the secret to restoring his youth and ensuring his long-lasting reign lies in the seed of a sorcerer, but leeching magic is slowly destroying his golden goose.

[](http://imgur.com/Mi6Xvix)


End file.
